


With a Team of Heroes

by Lumelle



Series: Comes Great Responsibility [2]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Avengers Tower, Break Up, Grief/Mourning, Kid Fic, Married Couple, Multi, Parent Tony Stark, Phil Coulson & Pepper Potts Friendship, Recovery, Team Dynamics, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 104,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumelle/pseuds/Lumelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's project of collecting Avengers (the only original set!) is disrupted when Pepper breaks up with him. However, despite their less than cheerful host, the rest of the team ends up gathering in the new Avengers Tower, slowly turning into an actual team. When Tony's post-breakup behavior turns out to have long-term consequences, the rest of the team are there to help, and somehow, the world survives the transition to Tony's Avengers without anything exploding.</p><p>Or, the one where Steve talks to gravestones, Phil offers to trade a mint-condition card, Clint sits on top of the bookshelf, Tony comes out as bi on live TV much to his own surprise, Natasha doesn't get to murder anyone, and there is disappointment abound because Rhodey has clothes on. And Pepper has a headache because of the Avengers, but then that is nothing new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Breaking Apart

**Author's Note:**

> **This fic will eventually contain all of the following** , in roughly the following order: semi-amicable break-up, Tony dealing with the break-up in a less-than-productive way (excessive drinking, sleeping around), Coulson being alive, unpleasant (though not utterly villainous) Fury, minor character death, a baby, doing-his-best-to-be-paternal Tony, and mentions of Loki's mind being broken in the void. Some recurring themes include PTSD, mourning, doubts and insecurity, dangerous/violent situations and reckless decisions therein, injuries, mentions of/mild instances of homophobia, and just about everyone being an asshole at some point; on the lighter side we have team spirit, recovery, supportive friends, and amicable exes. Pairings are as listed in the tags. Furthermore, while the fic is heavily Tony-centric, each character has at least one PoV scene per chapter.  
>  **This fic does NOT contain** cheating, in-team violence (sparring aside), explicit sexual content, or everything being suddenly happy fluffy perfect without people having to work for it. However, there is a happy ending.
> 
> Also, please note **this fic does NOT take Iron Man 3 into account**. In this 'verse, none of the movie's events happened.  
>  If any of the above sounds disagreeable to you, this is probably not the fic for you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve visits friends who are very good listeners but poor conversationalists, while Clint is lucky to have Natasha, who isn't quite as loyal as Fury might think. Bruce and Hulk talk about the Shiny Guy, who unfortunately is going to have very bad news when Pepper breaks up with him. And somewhere, someone is in pain.

The thing about graveyards, Steve had noticed, was that few people looked at you askance if you were talking to yourself.

Sure, there were people who gave him another look as he murmured something to yet another slab of granite, but he wasn't the only one, and people didn't seem to find it appropriate to question him. A couple of times he was sure someone had recognized him, saw a flicker of understanding and a step closer, but nobody ever approached him. The news coverage had reached every corner of the country, of course, and he wasn't exactly an easy figure to forget, but graveyards were places of respect, even if in his opinion he had done much less to earn that respect than the people he visited.

It had been nice of Tony to offer him a list of where to find his old friends, though he was fairly sure the billionaire had mainly just asked his computer to look into the matter. Steve didn't care about the details; it was still a nice gesture, and certainly more than he had expected from the aggravating man. Then, it seemed clear even from their short acquaintance that there was much more to Tony Stark than one could see at a glance.

"You don't talk much," he told the grave, "but that's okay. None of the others were much for talking, either. You guys are really good at listening, though." He chuckled. "Guess you can't tell me off for boring you, now."

The second date carved into the stone had been only a few years earlier, so very close. If he'd been found just a little while earlier, maybe they could have had an actual chat. He could have caught up in person, heard about everything he had missed, about what life had been like after he lost his. Whether he was the only one desperately trying to catch up with this new century, if living through the changes had made them any easier to accept.

He glanced up as he heard distant voices, gaze sweeping the graveyard. There were two men walking down the path some ways away, middle-aged, one of them holding some flowers. Their hands were clasped together, and Steve found himself smiling. That was one change he could live with.

He wondered what his friends would have thought about that. Wondered why that question made his chest ache.

"Um, excuse me?" Startled, he spun around, finding a young woman looking at him. She couldn't have been more than twenty, if that. "Can I help you?"

"Ah, sorry." He gave her a sheepish smile. "Didn't hear you approaching."

"That's my great-grandpa's grave." She eyed him with something akin to suspicion. Of course. Someone his age shouldn't have had any reason to poke around at the grave of someone that old, certainly not someone she had never seen before. She probably thought he was a vandal or something.

"Right." And really, great-grandpa, there were two generations between his friend and this young lady, a grown woman in her own right and for him it had been just a couple of busy months. "Sorry. I was looking for a friend of mine; I must have made a wrong turn somewhere." Like the one down into the freezing ocean.

"That's all right." She gave him a smile, then, suspicion fading away as he stepped aside, allowing her to get closer and crouch down at the grave, clearing what few weeds had managed to grow upon it. "This place can get a little confusing sometimes, I know. I got lost the first few times I came here, myself."

"Do you tend the grave a lot, then?" Apparently she hadn't recognized him, which was just as well. Sure, it might have explained what he was doing here, but it could have been quite awkward in its own way.

"I'm the one who does it, mostly." There was a smile on her face, one of fond remembrance. That was good. It was good to know his old friends were still missed and cared for, and not just by him. "He's a really good listener, still. Mom keeps saying it's because I was great-grandpa's favorite."

"You two were close, then?" He hoped he didn't seem like some kind of a creep with his questions, but then she didn't seem to mind.

"Oh, yeah." She brushed her fingertips over the name on the tombstone. "He's the one who took my side when I first brought my girlfriend home and grandpa threw a fit. He told everyone else it wasn't the 20th century anymore, and he was damn sure about that, because he'd lived through most of it."

A kind of relief filled Steve, then, at an unspoken question answered. "He sounds like a good man," he said, and knew he was right. "But, ah. I shouldn't be bothering you." He turned to go, only to be brought to a halt as she spoke again.

"Steve?"

He turned around, startled. "Huh?"

"Ah, sorry." She flushed a bit. "It's just, Grandpa had this picture, a really old one, of some of his army friends. You look exactly like one of the guys in it."

"Ah. Right." He blinked. "You remember the names of everyone in his picture?" She must have been really close to him.

"Not quite." She chuckled. "Steve just, well, kind of stood out to me." At his questioning gaze, she shrugged. "Great-grandpa always told me how he didn't have much of an eye for the ladies," she said. "Only ever really looked at one, if that, and never joined in when everyone swapped their stories. Great-grandpa said he always kind of suspected him of not being much for ladies at all, but that he was a good guy nevertheless. And, well, you can guess how much that helped a mortified teenager crushing on her best friend."

"Oh, yeah." He'd never found such acceptance, not as a teenager, but he could indeed guess. It felt just as good now, that acceptance, even if from everyone else's perspective it was a few generations and a lifetime late in being delivered. "Believe me, I know the feeling." What he wouldn't have given to have had that back then.

It was a different world, he thought as he made his way to his bike, thinking about his next destination, one where the men he'd stood beside months before were fading memories to everyone else, where the dead spoke through the mouths of the young about things that for him were new. It was a different world, and one he couldn't face without sadness and longing, not yet, but he had a feeling he could maybe learn to like this world, yet.

Maybe he'd visit Gabriel and Jacques next. Tony's list said they had a nice little graveyard corner all to themselves the next state over.

*

He still wasn't sure why they had let them go just like that, why there hadn't been a debrief and probably a lock-up for him and hell why hadn't they just shot him. He'd been too freaked out to really worry about it when they'd made their way to Budapest, but now that they were heading back he was wondering why they had at no point been stopped, questioned, or just plain snatched back. Not that Natasha would have let that happen, Natasha could be incredibly protective like that and God he was lucky to have her, but he still would have expected SHIELD to try something at the very least.

"Relax." Natasha's touch was light on his arm, almost not there at all, but it did help a little. "It will be fine."

"No, it won't," he said, and they both knew he was right. "They should have already come after us."

"Maybe Fury's feeling guilty," Natasha suggested, though the idea of Fury having actual feelings felt dubious at best. "For letting Phil die."

She wasn't one to dance around things, never had been, and on moments like this he wasn't sure if he hated her or loved her for it. He settled on loved, because he would have been seriously freaked out if Natasha had started walking on eggshells around him, and very probably suspected that she was up to something terrible behind his back. Besides, it wasn't like she was overly cruel with it. If anyone, Natasha knew just how much he could take, when it was better to just stay silent and not bring it up. It was less so now, not like it had been in the beginning, when the wrong word or look would send him drowning in his memories, shaking when he finally managed to claw his way back to reality.

The ring was heavy in its chain around his neck. It wasn't until he felt Natasha's eyes on him that he realizes he's brought his hand up to feel it through his shirt. When he did realize he let his hand fall back into his lap, trying not to fidget.

"It's fine, you know." Natasha's voice was quiet as she walked to the window of their hotel room, glancing out, and for all that he knew her Clint wasn't even sure if she was avoiding looking at him or if she really just felt like taking a look at the surroundings. "To show that you're mourning."

"It won't make any difference, though." Nothing ever would. Nothing he did or said could bring Phil back, not ever again.

"It might to you." She looked at him again, now, gaze serious. "You've been hiding all these years. You should at least allow yourself to mourn for him without fear."

"Like I ever hid from you." And he never did, not when it was just the two or three of them, never worried about showing Natasha that side of his life, their life. Sure, she would huff and mock him and talk about how love was for children, a beautiful little game that only hid ugliness, but he knew she had been happy to see it, the two constants in her life finding some stability in each other.

"So what is this, then?" Natasha took on an inquiring tone. "You've recently been acting like you've been caught red-handed at a mark's body whenever I catch you obviously thinking about him. I suppose it's better than you breaking down all the time, at least you're functioning now, but I really don't like this any more."

He was quiet for a moment, trying to find the words to describe something he wasn't sure he even understood himself. "I don't deserve it," he finally said.

"We've been over this, Clint." There was a frown on her face. "It's not your fault, he wouldn't want you to blame yourself, now don't you fucking tell me you don't have the right to mourn. I may not have a high opinion of love in general, but even I could see that man was good for you, and you for him. You have the right to remember him."

"It's weakness, though." His voice was little more than a murmur, but he knew she heard him nevertheless. "He went and faced Loki without any guarantee he could even do anything, and I can't get through the damn day without whining about how I'm the one who has it hard."

"So you think he'd prefer you to forget about him? To pretend he never meant anything to you at all?"

"I didn't mean that." He sighed. "I just… all I've been doing ever since is cry and whine and cry some more. It's been long enough, I should be getting better."

"And you are." She crosses back to where he's sitting on the bed, again touching him, fingers ever so light. "You are doing much better, because you're recovering, and that's a good thing. But if you avoid thinking about him, showing that you're thinking about him, you're never going to get to the point where you can think about him and smile."

"You really think that's ever going to happen?" Because he damn well doubted that. "That I'm ever going to smile when thinking about Phil dying alone while I was doing his killer's evil bidding?"

"Of course not, dummy." She patted his head, as though a mockery of a slap. "But you'll think back to all the times he laughed at something stupid you said over the comms, all the times he told you to take a shot and you did and it was exactly what you needed to do, the way he looked so damn adorable just after waking up with a severe case of bed head. Because those things aren't going away, even though the pain will, and by telling yourself not to think about him all the time you're not letting yourself to move to that point."

"What would you know about that?" He tried not to sound bitter, but it was pretty inevitable. "When you first found out about us, you laughed at me for being so naive and stupid, because who the hell would be idiotic enough to fall in love at my age, especially in our profession. What do you know about losing someone you love?"

"Nothing." And here was her lovely bluntness again. "But I know both you and your foolishness very thoroughly, and I know you loved him too much to let him remain a painful memory forever."

He looked at her and felt hollow, in that terrible way that was the result of his heart getting carved out even if he did still have some stupid lump of muscle beating away in his chest, but he also couldn't help but feel a bit of warmth like he always had when he saw Phil's eyes crinkle just so.

He hated and loved Natasha so much, and God was he lucky to have her.

*

Her cell phone vibrated, just once, but enough to gain her attention. Clint was silent, apparently asleep, but she still took a quick glance at him before digging out her phone, looking at the message.

_'Any change?'_

She took a longer look at her partner — friend, ally — before quickly typing a response.

 _'Still sleeps a lot. Suspect Loki messed up his sleep pattern.'_ Less crying, too, but there was no reason for Fury to know about any of that.

There hadn't been that much Clint could tell him, not having been aware through all of it — though certainly for far too much — but at least she had managed to figure out that he hadn't had much rest during the entire time he had been under the trickster's control. It had still been hard for him to sleep at first, only managing to find rest while clinging to her and even then for only short periods of time, but he was doing better now, if only marginally. Which in this case meant sleeping half the day, but that was fine. Natasha could keep guard.

There was a pause before another question arrived.

_'Anything alarming?'_

Besides the fact that one of the strongest, most capable man she'd ever met was a mere shadow of himself, slowly piecing himself together on top of the trembling wreck she'd held in her arms for several nights?

 _'Nothing to report, Sir.'_ Because there were things that Fury didn't need to know.

 _'Will need debrief when you return.'_ Of course he did, that much had been understood even when they had first been let go without so much as a whisper from SHIELD. She'd never imagined they could just walk away and never look back, not without a fight.

 _'I won't let you lock him up.'_ Of course, if Fury had any sense he knew that much already, but she still felt the need to reiterate that. 'Not for something Loki did.' Clint was already beating himself up enough.

 _'I have no intention of doing so. He shot at me and Hill and we are both alive.'_ That was all the explanation Natasha needed for the otherwise uncharacteristic response. There was so much more damage that could have been done, to both the helicarrier and individual people. It was only due to Clint's struggling against Loki that it hadn't come to that.

And at the end of the day, he hadn't been able to protect the one thing he had most needed to keep safe.

 _'People will need a scapegoat.'_ Because for once, Fury was not the one she had to worry about.

_'We blame Loki. Any further trouble, and there might be a slip of the tongue to the media about a certain something Stark took care of.'_

Well. That was just nice and ruthless and so very much like Fury. _'Nice.'_

_'That's Stark, not me. Apparently for a shallow, narcissistic bastard, the man has a very deep trust in the basic humanity of Hawkeye.'_

Natasha found her lips curling a bit, an almost fond smirk. Of course. Stark chose the weirdest situations to trust people, and had very strange merits to judge said people by besides. _'He's a team player even if he doesn't admit it.'_

_'You're telling me. Apparently he wants you all to move in, if I understood his over-caffeinated rambles correctly.'_

Okay, so that was a surprise. Or maybe not. Strange solutions were also very much Stark's thing. _'He keeps the council off our backs, I'll put on pajamas for his slumber party.'_

_'Aren't you being accommodating, Agent.'_

_'We still get the news here, Sir.'_ Not that she was going to specify where "here" was. While she wasn't all that confident that he would keep his word not to track them, it would have been utterly amateurish of her to give him any extra help. _'It's bad enough people are blaming us for saving their lives, I'd rather not have anyone official get in on it.'_

_'Duly noted, Agent. Inform me if Hawkeye seems unstable.'_

Natasha glanced over to where Clint was curled up on the bed, shivering, making small sounds of distress in the grip of whatever nightmare was plaguing him now. Moving over to him, she ran one hand over his hair, the other typing quickly, _'Will do, Sir,'_ without feeling a hint of guilt at her lie.

She then deleted all the messages, just in case, and turned her phone off before turning her attention to Clint, who had calmed down a bit at the touch but still seemed distressed.

They still had a long night ahead of them.

*

"I think," Bruce said when he first walked into his lab, "I'm in love."

"I'm flattered, I really am," Tony said from behind him, sounding amused. "However, Pepper cruelly shot down my suggestion of an open relationship, so I'm afraid you'll just have to settle for nice and platonic science love."

"I'll admit you're a great guy, Tony, but I still wouldn't go gay for you." However, Bruce found himself grinning. "I'd trade you for this lab in a heartbeat, though."

"Well, lucky you, you can get both me and the lab." Tony grinned, a wide arc of his arm indicating the entire laboratory. "All yours, baby."

"This is just too much, Tony." Bruce shook his head, walking further into the wide space. "I mean, I wasn't even sure some of this stuff existed!"

"Not outside these walls, they don't." But of course. If anyone possessed the talents and wherewithal to simply create his own scientific equipment, it was Tony Stark. "So, you like?"

"Oh, no, Tony, I'm utterly consumed by my hatred for this terrible thing you're doing for me. In fact, I think I may have to puke. All this science is going to give me nightmares."

"Good to know it wasn't all for nothing, then." Tony patted him on the shoulder. "I guess I'll leave you two to get to know each other properly. Try not to hump anything too delicate, sterilizing this stuff is a pain in the ass."

Before Bruce could even protest, Tony had vanished, leaving him alone in a lab full of incredibly expensive, top of the line scientific equipment.

Mere moments after the door closed after Tony the doubts struck him. He couldn't do this, he thought. He shouldn't have been doing this. It wasn't just all this beautiful science that he was endangering by being here, not even just himself that he was risking by staying somewhere it would be so very easy for SHIELD to track him down. No, he was also putting Tony and Pepper in danger, simply by being in the same building. In danger from him, and from anyone who might have wanted to find him. Tony might not have had the cleanest public image to begin with, but he doubted harboring a fugitive would help the matters.

Walking further into the lab, Bruce let his fingertips brush some of the delicate instruments, at last not afraid that the wrong thought, wrong stimulus might drive him into destroying them. He knew himself better than that, now, had learned that even though there were still situations where he could not will the Other Guy away, his control wasn't quite as precarious as he had thought. Tony knew that, too; he wasn't too particular about money or danger, but he wouldn't have left Bruce in such a place if he didn't trust his control.

Except unlike everyone else, unlike Bruce himself, Tony had already had that trust in him before the battle against the Chitauri. While everyone else had been walking on eggshells around him when they weren't accusing him of being a monster to his face, Tony had waltzed right into the room, congratulated him for his amazing ability to turn into a giant green rage monster, and brought all eyes to himself instead of Bruce. Whether that had been Tony's intention, Bruce didn't know, and he doubted Tony would admit anything even if he asked, but he had taken the pressure off Bruce's shoulders and at the same time accepted Bruce with open arms.

To Tony, Bruce wasn't a monster, nor was he a cage for one. He wasn't someone to be feared or given special consideration lest he wreak havoc, not someone to keep at a distance. In Tony's sharp eyes he was just a man, a smart man with the unique ability to turn into something much stronger and awe-inspiring in all the wrong ways, and holy crap Bruce my Bruce those transformations must work up one hell of an appetite, good thing I can afford to feed you. There had been no room for protests, no way to change Tony's mind as he opened his life and home to Bruce and Hulk alike.

The Other Guy had saved Tony. Bruce could never convince him there might be a risk involved after all.

"Shiny Guy friend," gave a deep rumble from the little corner of his mind where the Other Guy was never truly gone, lingering just beneath the surface of conscious thought. "Shiny Guy protect Bruce. Hulk protect Shiny Guy."

Bruce wondered how Tony would react if he knew what Hulk called him. Grin widely and demand everyone else to call him the same, probably.

He still didn't know much about the battle, not much more than he had been able to piece together from news reports and the various eyewitness accounts. There were some flashes, the strongest images from the Other Guy filtering to him even as the small details were forgotten. He hadn't been in control, not really, more like the Other Guy had finally decided to cooperate, and his memories were still a bit hazy though at the time he had been aware of everything to a point. However, he was fairly sure his monstrous side still made the connection between the Shiny Guy, Iron Man in his armor, and Tony, the strange guy who was smaller than Bruce and never seemed to be quiet for a moment.

He wasn't sure if Hulk realized the armor was a type of clothing or if he thought Tony and Iron Man were two entities like Bruce and Hulk, but as long as it meant the Other Guy saw both of Tony's identities as worth protecting, he wasn't too picky. And, well, even without the armor Tony was definitely one of the shiniest people Bruce had ever met.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Bruce looked up from the instrument he hadn't really been studying, seeing Tony poke his head back into the lab. "Chinese tonight? We should totally celebrate your newfound love with all these totally hot pieces of scientific equipment. We'll eat and drink beer and talk dirty dirty science all night long, baby."

Oh, yes, Bruce thought as he grinned in response. Definitely Shiny.

*

Confronting Tony in his workshop was really not the way she had wanted to do this.

However, Tony just loved to make her life difficult, didn't he, even the rare times he wasn't doing it on purpose, and thus the workshop was precisely where she was directed as she stepped out of the elevator and asked Jarvis where she could locate him. Hearing this announcement she almost hesitated, just for a second. Tony usually was his happiest in his workshop, even happier than he ever was in stupid parties or at high-end bars or in any other equally frustratingly Tony situation. Pepper had seen him laughing as he downed drink after drink, had seen him leering with a beautiful woman at each arm, smirking as he verbally flipped off a bunch of journalists while somehow managing to sound perfectly polite. However, she'd never seen him grin quite as freely and his eyes shine quite as brightly as when he was in his workshop, focusing on solving some engineering problem that maybe five people in the world could even understand, absolute elation taking over his face as he finally figured out whatever was puzzling him. The workshop was Tony's happy place, it was the heart of his realm, and she was about to walk right in past all his defenses and take that happiness away.

However, she had to do it, and she had to do it now. The longer she put it off, the harder it would be for both of them.

The music greeted her loud as usual as she walked into the workshop. Tony was working on some blueprints this time, his eyes focused on the intricate lines of blue light, and for a moment Pepper almost stopped short at the sight of just how beautiful he was. She steeled herself, then, walking closer. She had to do this now, as soon as possible, before either of them got too invested in all this.

Too invested. Which was exactly the problem, wasn't it.

"Pepper!" Tony's eyes lit up as he looked her, a wave of his hand turning the music down to less deafening levels, and she found herself smiling in return. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"I… there's something I need to discuss with you."

She half expected Tony to bolt at that, but instead, he just grinned. "That's great, because I've got a lot of things to say to you, too." As though Tony was ever quiet. "See, I'm finally done with the plans for Bruce's quarters, with some input from the good man himself of course, and the building team's actually already started. So next I was looking at Cap's room, need to hunt him down of course but I know he'll show up eventually, and I thought you'd give me some input on it. I mean, you've already given me some great ideas, and —"

"Tony," she said, trying to cut in, but then Tony was almost impossible to interrupt once he got going.

"You really need to help me with Natasha, or Natalie, whatever, you obviously know her better than me, I'm not just saying that because you're both women by the way because that would be sexist, but she did work for you so you must know something about her, and I'd really appreciate any extra tips you could give me because I'd also appreciate not getting stabbed with stilettos —" His eyes had shifted back to the blueprints, hands waving in an animated manner, zooming this and shifting that, and Pepper wasn't sure she had ever seen something quite as enthralling.

"Tony, I'm breaking up with you."

"— and then — what?" Tony finally looked up at her, his eyes wide with shock and a little bit of hurt. "What did you just say?"

She drew a deep breath, and somehow it was even harder to say the second time. She'd have thought it'd be the other way around, that it'd be easier once she'd got the bomb out of the way, but really it took all her strength to get the words out again. "I'm breaking up with you."

"But… why?" Still shocked and hurt, in a way she hadn't seen him in ages, had never wanted to see him, certainly not because of her. But this was for the best. "I've been on my best behavior and everything. I know I have. Jarvis has been making a spreadsheet, I can totally scientifically prove that I've been all responsible and loving boyfriend and shit."

"It's not anything you've done, Tony." She sighed. "And it's not even anything you haven't done, really, though I'd be lying if I claimed I haven't felt somewhat neglected lately with all your planning and rebuilding. It's me. I just can't — I can't take this."

"Can't take what?" The blueprints vanished without a word or a gesture, leaving just him and her and the blue glow of the reactor through his tank top. Pepper swallowed as her eyes caught it, looking back up to Tony's face, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

"I can't take being the second best thing in your heart." She shook her head as he opened his mouth, lifting a hand to silence him. "No, don't say it. Yes, I know I'm your number one woman, I know you've been so thoroughly faithful it's practically indecent for someone like you, I know all that. But that doesn't change the fact that there is something you love more than me."

"Never." He rounded the table surprisingly fast, hands grasping her shoulders, the calloused grip gentle as he looked at her with earnest eyes. "You are everything to me, Pepper. Anything in the world you wish is yours. I'll bring the moon down for you if you wish and not let anything stand in my way." The sad thing was, he probably would find a way to do just that if he had to.

"And if I told you to quit being Iron Man?"

His mouth opened again, but no sound came out. All he could do was stare at her.

"I won't," she continued, her tone quiet. "I never could. Because that would be tearing your heart out, and I could never do that to you."

"You're the one I love." She wasn't sure she'd ever heard him sound so sincere, so genuine. "If that's what it takes to make you happy, I'll do it. I'll quit."

"It'd tear you apart, though. You'd do it, because I know you and I love you and you're an idiot like that, and it'd kill you even more surely than the palladium was trying to." She lifted a hand to touch the side of his face. "You're a hero, Tony. You're supposed to be one. I'm pretty sure you've always been one, it just took you a little while to realize it."

"So what's the problem?" Tony stared at her as though hoping to glean the answer from her through sheer intensity alone. "If you don't want me to quit being Iron Man, why would you…" He trailed off, and Pepper wondered how many times she'd seen Tony Stark be unable to say something before. It wasn't a very big number.

"Because I can't take it." Her voice dropped. "I can't stand watching the TV and seeing you almost get torn apart, can't stand sitting at home like a little housewife and wondering if you'll be back or if I should be worrying about getting a black dress for your funeral. If there's going to be enough left to even bury." She shook her head. "Maybe some people can do that, God knows I thought I could, I wouldn't have let this go on so long if I hadn't thought that." Hurting Tony was never something she wanted to do. "But actually being there, watching you fight and risk yourself a hundred times… I'm not that strong, Tony. It was hard enough doing that as your assistant, as your friend. I can't do it as your partner."

"I'll always come back." He had to be desperate if he was promising things that he could offer no factual evidence for. "I promise, Pepper. No matter what, I'll always come back to you."

"Tony, I wish I could believe that." She gave him a smile, but it was a small, almost scared one. "But I know you and just how big your heart is, for all that you try to convince yourself you never had one to begin with. Whatever you may say, you'll always be risking yourself to save everyone else, because that's what you do. And I'm proud of you for that, and I love you for that, but I can't keep making that same sacrifice over and over again."

"I wouldn't do that to you." His voice was little more than a whisper. "Pepper, don't. Please don't. I can't do this without you."

"I'm not going to vanish from your life, Tony." As though she ever could. "I'll still be bugging you about the company, and reminding you to sleep and eat, and rushing in to get you out of whatever mess you manage to get yourself into. I just can't handle being in a relationship with you while you risk your life on a regular basis, and I can't in good conscience ask you to stop doing that, because then you wouldn't be the man I love."

"So, what? You love me too much to love me?"

"Basically? Yes, that's it." However ridiculous it sounded. "Tony, this isn't easy for me, either, and I'm not going to pretend I can just forget all about this just like that. But I think in the long run, it will be better for both of us. Less painful."

"How can anything be made less painful by taking away the one good thing in my life?"

She hid a wince. His voice was so sincere, she had to keep reminding herself that this was truly for the best. "Except I'm not the only good thing in it anymore, Tony," she whispered. "You have other people you can rely on, now. You have your suits and your plans, you have Bruce to work with you, you have a whole new world that is making you so very happy. And I'm glad to see you have all that, I really am. I just… need some distance from that." Distance from the worst case scenario. "Distance I can't have if we're dating."

"I never wanted to hurt you." Again a whisper. "Please, don't do this to me."

"I know I'm selfish." She swallowed. "I'm selfish and weak and all those bad things, resenting you for being a hero and saving lives. However, even though you're obviously ready to make sacrifices, I'm not. So we should go back to what we were before. It's going to hurt, I know, it's already hurting me, but we'll both get better over time and maybe you'll find someone who is strong enough, someone who is fine with not even getting a call before you rush right to your death because who needs that when she can watch you die on live TV."

Tony didn't say anything, just looked at her with wide, broken eyes, and that was more painful than any words could be.

"I'm sorry." She turned around, unable to face him any longer. "I'm so sorry I let this go on so long."

There was still nothing, and she started walking off, unable to handle this any longer. Just before she reached the door, though, she heard Tony's voice behind her, quiet but audible, and she realized that at some point Jarvis had cut off the music entirely. "I did try to call."

"What?" She froze, her hand halfway to the access pad.

"I did try to call," Tony repeated. "During the battle, when I thought I wasn't coming back. Thought the least I could do was tell you I loved you. That if I was about to have my last words, they could just as well be to you." He paused, and the silence settled upon her, heavy and suffocating. "You didn't pick it up."

And then the door opened, she'd never even punched in a code because apparently Jarvis was just that smart, and she hurried out of the workshop without a single glance behind, because she was sure if she did that she would break down.

This was for the best. This had to be.

*

Tony's heart broke into a million shiny little pieces on the workshop floor as he watched Pepper walk out, he was sure he could hear it shatter, so sure that he actually had to look down and check his chest was still as intact as it ever was. There was no sign of an escape by any internal organ, though, and his arc reactor was still shining brightly as usual, firmly lodged in its spot in the middle of his chest. Its quiet hum vibrated through his chest, demanding his attention, wanting him back in reality.

Reality, Tony decided, was overrated. Reality was where he was staring at the closed door after her, with no shattered heart at his feet, and really that was just wrong, if he was going to get dumped like that the least she could have done was give him some physical evidence that it had happened, that it mattered. Instead she had walked out like all she had done was talk, like she had just said words and those words meant things but not too big things oh no, like she hadn't just taken his life apart and deleted the blueprints and left him with no way to put it back together.

Oh yeah, broken heart on the floor was the least he deserved.

"Jarvis?" he asked, trying to tear his eyes from the door and failing once again. "Jarvis, did Pepper just break up with me?"

"I'm afraid so, sir," his AI answered, its voice gentle and almost careful, and for once he very nearly wished he hadn't programmed him with quite as much personality.

"Right." He drew a deep breath, and then another, mostly just wanting to prove to himself that he could, that he was indeed still alive no thanks to Pepper and nothing was going to keep him down for long. Even if he had just lost the most perfect wonderful miraculous thing in his life even after all the effort he'd made not to screw this one thing up, this one thing that mattered and made everything just that one bit brighter.

Of course, the next breath turned into a sob, but he supposed that could be excused under the circumstances.

Tony generally didn't drink in the workshop; when he was there, he had better things to do than self-medicating through the wonders of alcohol. However, there were times when the mood struck him while tinkering, and for any such times he had a well-stocked cabinet with all his favorite things tucked away under one of his side counters. Fighting against the urge to break down and wail like a baby, he made his way there and took out a bottle of very good scotch, one he'd started earlier and was now pretty much determined to finish. He looked around for a glass, just for a moment, before deciding against it and flopping down on the floor in front of the cabinet.

That was where Bruce found him, hours later, peering into an empty bottle as though hoping it would impart upon him some unearthly wisdom about the hearts of people. Or possibly a drop more scotch. Hey, he was too drunk to be picky.

"Tony?" he asked, and Tony turned to look at him.

"Pepper lef' me," he confided. "Said she couldn' do it." But that was ridiculous. Pepper could do absolutely anything, Tony knew that. She was amazing that way, always had been.

"I know." Bruce's voice was soft. "Jarvis told me." Of course. Jarvis was a traitor like that, sometimes.

"I was tryin'." And the sad part was, he really was. He'd been on his best behavior for ages. Sure, he hadn't been the perfect boyfriend, he was pretty sure doing that would have cracked his genetic code or something, but he had tried. He'd been caring, and faithful, and romantic, and did he mention faithful? But it hadn't been enough. "Tryin' my hardest."

"I know you were, Tony." Bruce's hands reached down, and after a moment's thought, Tony grasped them. "It's not your fault." Huh. And here he'd been thinking Bruce was smart.

"Never doin' this again," he slurred as Bruce helped him to his feet. "No' ever. I don' care who comes up, 'm never doin' it."

"Doing what?" Bruce asked, even as he very neatly helped Tony navigate the treacherous terrain of his own workshop. "Getting drunk in your workshop?"

"Nah," Tony replied, because of course he'd be doing that again, why'd Bruce think he had a liquor cabinet there anyway. "Fallin' in love. Never doin' that again."

"Right." Bruce's arm was around him, warm and solid, and much though Tony hated to admit it he probably would have collapsed without it. "I'm sure you won't."

"I mean it," he announced, infinitely grateful that there was no actual threshold at the door for him to stumble over and then doing it anyway. "Remind me, Bruce. Don' let me do it. 'S just pain in the end."

"Well," Bruce said, his tone calm, where the fuck did he get off being sober anyway, "some people do believe it's worth it."

"Then they're idiots." Tony huffed. "Ideez, all o' them. 'M never doin' it, no way, no how."

"Things will look better in the morning," Bruce said because he was Bruce, and for all his bad experiences he could be disgustingly optimistic sometimes. "You'll get back to your feet, you'll see."

"Dun' wanna." He didn't want to do anything at the moment; if it hadn't been for Bruce's quite insistent arm around his shoulders he probably would have just collapsed to the floor right then and there and curled up to sleep in the middle of the hallway. "Wan' Pepper."

Bruce didn't say anything to that, just helped him the rest of the way to his bedroom.

As he collapsed on his bed, still in his workshop clothes, Tony drunkenly swore to himself he would never, ever, love another human being again. Bruce murmured something that Tony suspected was just humoring him and pried off his shoes.

Sleep claimed him halfway through the second amendment on the possibility of purely platonic love toward science bros who hauled his drunken ass to bed.

*

He shouldn't have been awake.

He wasn't sure exactly why he knew this, wasn't sure why it was so bad and wrong for him to be awake, wasn't even sure if he was supposed to be asleep or something else instead. It was hard to think, impossible almost, his head full of conflicting images and thoughts and voices that didn't make any sense, everything flashing about with no connection or logic to it.

For a moment he tried to move, to reach out to make some sense of the world, but nothing seemed to work. He couldn't feel his body, not in a way that made any sense at least, and nothing was responding. He might have panicked at that except that would have required his mind to work faster, when at the moment all he could manage was a slow, sluggish crawl through disjointed thoughts with little clarity. There just wasn't enough energy to spare for panic.

He needed to move, though, needed to make sense of something, because there were things he had to do, had to find out. Another image flashed before him, grainy as though from a security feed, an image of blue eyes staring without awareness, and somehow that caused a flash of pain to run through him. There was always pain, all the time, but it wasn't usually this sharp, the usual ache too dull to break through the background noise.

He wanted to curl up in on himself, but couldn't move, couldn't control himself. The pain lingered, but with it came some clarity, some understanding of what he should have been doing, so he welcomed it. His mind clung to that one image, knowing its importance though not the reasons behind it, unwilling to let go.

He dragged the image, and the pain with it, back to the darkness that swallowed him, desperate to hold onto that one remaining link.


	2. Coming Together Like a Bad Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Pepper's little bomb, Tony is broken, enough so that Bruce decides to call Steve for help. The Captain's arrival does get him to stop getting drunk in the workshop, though the change isn't entirely for the better. In the meantime, Pepper talks with Rhodey, Natasha is concerned with Clint, Clint has his own sorrows, and at an undisclosed location, someone has a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to RL being more hectic than I expected, I couldn't make it in quite the two weeks I was planning on. In exchange, though, you get a longer chapter.

"Tony, you can't do this."

"Watch me." Really, Bruce was being ridiculous. Clearly Tony could do this very easily; there was absolutely nothing stopping him from doing it. Oh, sure, Bruce was talking, but if he was going to let people talking stop him from doing things he would have led a very different life.

"You know what I mean." Bruce sighed. Of course. All Tony was good for was making people around him sigh. "This isn't helping anything, Tony. All you're doing is hurting yourself."

"Am not." Now, that was just willful blindness on Bruce's part. "Pepper hurt me. Can't get hurt any worse."

"Well, this isn't helping, either." Bruce frowned. "Tony, this is the third time I've found you drunk in your workshop. This is just not healthy."

"Well, where else would I get drunk?" Tony waved his arm. "She broke my heart right here. In my very own workshop, Bruce. Didn't even have the decency to get her own workshop to do it."

"I know, Tony." Bruce finally sat down on the floor next to him, still looking worried. Silly Bruce. There was no reason to worry about Tony; the worst case scenario had already come and gone. "Drinking won't change that, though."

"Well, duh." What did Bruce think he was, an idiot? "Did I say I was trying to change anything? All I want is not to think about it for a while."

"So your solution is to sit right where it happened, wallowing in your self-misery. No offense, but I'm not entirely convinced this is the best plan you've ever hatched."

"All I said is what I want to do, mind, not what I'm succeeding at." Tony took another swig of his drink. Sure, it was far from perfect as far as plans went, but he wasn't hearing any better ideas.

"You want to talk about it?" Bruce sounded careful, somehow. Tony wondered why. It wasn't like he was going to be reminded of what had happened; he'd hardly stopped thinking about it.

"Pretty sure that's not going to change anything, either."

"Maybe not. But I don't want to leave you unattended around dangerous chemicals and heavy machinery while you're this drunk, and it'd help me pass the time."

"That's what I like about you." Tony pointed at Bruce. "Your practicality. Well, that and your brains. You've got big brains, I like those in a guy. Or a girl. Big brains are sexy regardless of equipment." He paused. "Hey, how'd you like to be my rebound? I promise I wouldn't let it ruin our friendship. I'd even keep you out of the tabloids and everything."

"I'm flattered, but I'm afraid you're quite not my type." At least Bruce was now amused instead of sighing. That was definitely progress. Tony just hated making his friends sigh.

"And why not? I promise you, my chest area is infinitely more interesting than ninety percent of the boobs out there. I mean, how many chicks come with their own night light?"

"Still not interested, sorry."

"Why not? It's great for romance, you know. All I need to do is show some cleavage and candlelight dinners will seem as antiquated as they are." He paused for another swig. "Would you like that? Cleavage? Because let me tell you, I look damn good in a dress. Just ask Rhodey. Or better yet, don't. He tells the story totally wrong."

"I'm sure." And this time there was absolutely no reason for Bruce to sound quite that amused. Really, Tony should have gotten all offended at that.

"I'll show you some day and you'll be sorry you grinned at me. I've got a pretty impressive leg to height ratio. Especially in heels." He paused, trying not to think of Pepper's obscenely high heels. "I told her I'd stop being Iron Man." Well, so much for not thinking about her.

"Pepper?" Bruce's tone was soft again. Tony kind of hated and kind of loved him for it.

"Yeah. Said that if that was what was hurting her, I'd stop. And I would have, you know. Not for anyone else, but for her, I would have stopped. Because I do love being Iron Man, but I love her more."

"And what did she say to that?" Bruce didn't move when Tony listed sideways, just a little, leaning against his shoulder. Good, wonderful Bruce.

"That she couldn't ask that of me. That it'd kill me, that I'm supposed to be a hero. Said she couldn't tear my heart out like that, and then she went and tore it apart instead."

Bruce was quiet for a while. "It'll get better," he said then.

"You think so?" Because Tony sure as hell didn't.

"I know so." Bruce's tone was a bit firmer, now. "I know it hurts right now, but it will get better, I promise. In the end you'll be able to smile and be happy that she is happy, even if it's not with you."

"I hope so. She deserves to be happy." She deserved better than Tony, too. He was just a selfish little shit and couldn't let go.

"So do you." And Bruce had obviously missed the whole point.

"Nah, I don't." His bottle was getting empty. "Every day I wake up I feel like I don't deserve it, like I haven't done enough to earn it. I should have died in a cave in Afghanistan; every day after that is more than I deserve. I'm doing my best to make up for everything I've done, and I'm not sure it's ever going to be enough, but I can't stop trying."

"Everyone deserves that much, Tony," Bruce said, barely audible. "Nobody has to earn the right to life."

"Maybe not to begin with, but I'm pretty sure there are exceptions." Tony paused. "I was going to marry her."

Bruce didn't express his surprise at the sudden change of topic, didn't call him a fool for planning such things, didn't say anything. He just sat there, firm and steady, and let Tony blather on. He was such a great friend.

"Never thought I'd even want to, before. Never was one for much commitment. But then I had Pepper and I wanted nothing as much as I wanted to keep her, always, no matter what. I was going to ask her to marry me and promise her everything, absolutely everything, because she was the best thing in my life so she deserved to have my whole life." He shook his head. "Should've known it wouldn't be that easy." Nothing was ever easy for him.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said, and then nothing else, and Tony wondered for a moment what he was sorry for. It wasn't like Tony had lost anything he actually deserved to have.

He was already lucky that Bruce would be here, sitting next to him as he tried not to cry.

*

Steve had to admit he was somewhat startled to find his phone ringing.

To be honest, he had almost forgotten he had the thing with him in the first place. He had been too busy talking to dead people to call the few living ones he knew, and besides, the only ones who were supposed to know his number, or indeed know that he had a phone in the first place, were SHIELD contacts who didn't exactly call him up to chat. To be perfectly honest, this was partly because all the people he even knew in this new, strange world were SHIELD contacts of some description or another, but it didn't change the fact that he was surprised as someone decided to call him at last.

He managed to fumble the key lock off, staring at the caller ID. The number was strange, not one of the very few in his phone directory. After a momentary hesitation, he finally pressed the green button — that much he had been able to learn from the very quick, very basic rush course given to him along with the phone — and brought it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Ah, Captain?" The voice at the other end was vaguely familiar, but it was taking Steve a second to place it exactly. "Um, sorry to call you so out of the blue and everything. It's, ah, me. Bruce Banner. The Hulk, remember?"

"I could hardly forget." Steve was somewhat more surprised, now, which immediately made way for worry. "Is something wrong?" Because the only reason he could think of for why the Hulk would call him was if they were both needed.

"Well, yes and no." There was an unmistakable sigh at the other end. "It's just, I'm at my wit's end and I didn't know who else to call. I mean, I should probably apologize to you for bothering you like this, but…"

"No, it's fine." He didn't really have any more graves to visit, anyway. The rest of his plans had consisted mainly of aimless wandering until he got his head on more or less straight. "What's bothering you, Doctor?" He wanted to help, if there was any way he could. He knew he had been wary, but it seemed clear the doctor was a good man despite his more volatile side and deserved all the support Steve could give.

"Well, first off, I suppose I should ask you something." Another sigh reached his ears. "What do you think of Tony Stark?"

"Stark?" Steve frowned. Well, this call was just piling one surprise on top of another. "Why do you ask?"

"Because depending on your answer, I might be better off calling someone else after all."

"Right." He wasn't sure what this was about, but he supposed Bruce had his reasons for asking. "I… am not sure what to think about him, really. I mean, he annoys me, and I'm pretty sure he does it on purpose, but at the same time, I think he's a genuinely good person." He paused. "Certainly a better one than he gives himself credit for." Because for all the bravado and self-assured smiles, he had caught the fleeting moment of vulnerability in Stark's eyes. He was rather good at reading people, he'd had to be, back when it had been the only thing besides Bucky keeping him from getting his teeth fed to him on a regular basis. And for anything else he might have seen of Tony Stark, that little hint had been practically screaming at him.

"Good to hear that." Yet another sigh, but he was fairly sure this one was of relief. "Tony needs help."

"Oh?" Steve frowned. What help could Tony Stark possibly need that he could provide?

"Well, to be more accurate, I need help with Tony. He, ah, he's being difficult."

"Difficult how?" Steve asked, already somewhat dreading the answer. He'd heard some rather uncharitable things about Stark, and was fairly sure few of them were as exaggerated as he would have preferred to think.

"Pepper broke up with him," the doctor told him, and then, as Steve didn't respond, clarified, "Ms. Potts. His girlfriend. They'd been together for… I'm not sure of the exact time, but over a year at least. Apparently she got enough of waiting for Iron Man to come home, but couldn't bring herself to ask him to stop heroics."

Steve swallowed. "I see." He couldn't fault her for it, not exactly. It couldn't have been easy, sitting home and hoping for your beloved to return from the battle. Not everyone had the fortitude for that, and really, he supposed it was for the better in the long run that she had realized it now, when it was still only the two of them who would feel the pain of it.

Then again, there had been times when he had wished his parents had been divorced, if only so he wouldn't have been there to hurt her.

"So, anyway, Tony is… pretty broken." Which flew in the face of everything Steve knew about the man, but then he also knew better than to take a Stark at face value for their public persona. "He's basically living off booze and won't listen to me. And, well, since I can't obviously call Pepper, not now, and his only other friend is busy in a war zone at the moment…"

"You called me," Steve finished. Then, he had to ask. "Why me, though? I really don't think I can make any difference to his behavior."

"You can provide a distraction, though." The doctor sighed. "He's been planning to ask all the Avengers to move into the Tower, you know, not just me. I've seen the plans he's made, it's definitely true. So I thought, well, even if I can't break through to him, maybe having some more life around would distract him enough that he can start working on getting over it."

"Really?" Steve's eyes widened. That sounded… exactly like the kind of Stark he had known back then, he realized, recalling Howard's easy generosity and his ease in social situations. It sounded much less like the Stark he had come to know here, but then if he had learned anything about Tony Stark during their very brief acquaintance, it was that everything he thought he knew about the man was probably false. "And you think that my presence wouldn't just make things worse?"

"Unless you waltz in and announce your undying love for any and all available redheads in the country, I doubt you could make things worse if you tried." The doctor was quiet for a moment. "Actually, this being Tony we are talking about, he might just see that as a sign he should set you up with Pepper, but I doubt that would end well for anyone."

"Indeed." Steve sighed. "I just… I wouldn't want to take advantage of the situation. I mean, I'm sure you know what you're talking about regarding his plans, but things might well have changed now that his, ah, lover has left him. I'd feel bad about abusing his generosity like that." And besides, even if he was now convinced that Tony Stark was indeed every bit the hero his father had been and more, he still wasn't sure anything good could come out of the two of them spending much time in close vicinity. Not all of their bickering could be blamed on the scepter.

"Could you at least drop by at some point?" The doctor sounded almost pleading. "I mean, no rush or anything, just, when you're in town? I've been trying everything I can think of but nothing seems to hold his attention for long. I'm afraid he'll actually end up hurting himself if he continues like that."

Right. He'd heard about that very, very reckless birthday party. "I promise I will," he said, with little hesitation. "Soon as I'm in New York again, I will come by and try to convince him to get himself together."

"Thank you." And there was indeed such genuine gratitude in doctor Banner's voice that if Steve had held any remaining doubts about whether he returned Stark's very strange form of friendship, those doubts would have been banished entirely by the tone.

"It's the least I can do." And really, it was, after treating Stark like that, after treating Howard's son like that. Ten favors, twenty such favors wouldn't have come even close to clearing the blot on his record.

He had seen enough graves for while, anyway.

*

Bruce was trying not to hover needlessly, he really was. It annoyed Tony, and made him less likely to accept help when he actually needed it. However, seeing his latest friend — his only friend, for all intents and purposes, with Betty somewhere far and safe — ruin himself like this was just heart-wrenching. There wasn't anything he could do, nothing but call for help and try to keep an eye on Tony, and now that the Captain had arrived, he still couldn't help but trail after him, just to see what happened.

The Captain looked different now, more relaxed, almost content save for a small worried frown on his face as Bruce gave him some further details, leading the way to Tony's workshop. He was still just as tall and solid and wholesome as ever, though, and Bruce almost felt guilty for bothering him with such things. Almost, but not quite. He would take whatever help it took to get Tony to stop punishing himself.

They found Tony in his workshop, tinkering with something, a half-empty bottle at his side. Bruce didn't have to ask Jarvis to know he had been drinking from it for a while now; the slightly bleary look Tony gave them was proof enough.

"You." Tony stabbed the air with his finger in the Captain's general direction. "I know you."

"Yes, we've met before." At least this time he seemed to be remaining calm. That was good. "When we were fighting Loki, remember?"

"Right. You're Captain. Captain America." A grin took over Tony's face. "Rhodey outranks you!" He sounded almost like a gloating child. Yeah, definitely drunk.

"I'm sure he does." Captain sounded solemn and serious. "Don't you think you've had enough to drink for now?"

"No. Definitely not." Tony grasped his bottle as though afraid it'd be taken from him. Bruce had to say he was tempted. "You're just jealous."

"Jealous of what?" Captain — Steve, he should call him Steve, this would get really awkward otherwise — frowned.

"That I can get drunk and you can't." Was Tony actually sticking out his tongue? Seriously?

"I'm not jealous, Tony. I'm just concerned." Steve sighed. "This just isn't healthy. Besides, it's really not a good idea for you to get drunk here of all places."

"Here of all places?" Tony repeated. "Not sure if you've noticed, Captain Righteous, but this happens to be my home. If I want to get drunk in my own home, I don't see how that's any business of yours."

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, looking every bit like Captain America. Bruce suppressed a wince. Tony really did not react well to people trying to pull rank on him. "It is my business if you put others in danger," he pointed out. "And whether you want to admit it, that's exactly what you're doing when you get drunk around all of your machines."

"Except, mister mother hen, I've very clearly instructed Jarvis not to let me anywhere near the armor if I'm drunk. Believe it or not, blasting my best friend through a wall and ruining my best house is not exactly my idea of a good time." Tony took a big gulp of his drink, probably just to annoy Steve. "In the meantime, the only one with any kind of right to complain about my drinking habits is Bruce, by virtue of having to actually live with my drunken self."

"Believe it or not, people are allowed to actually care about you."

"Nope!" Tony sounded almost cheerful, now. "Haven't given you permission, I'd know if I had. I tend to keep track of people who worry about me; it's just not healthy to hang around that kind of lunatics. You're only allowed to worry if you're living with me or dating me, and since Pepper decided to turn in her worry card, Bruce's currently the only person in either category. Really, I should be offended that you're trying to edge in on Bruce's turf."

"So, what? I'm not allowed to say that drinking in your workshop is a bad idea unless I live here?"

"Hey, you're catching on." Tony grinned, bringing the bottle to his lips again.

"Fine. I'm moving in."

"What was that?" Tony feigned confusion. "Brucey, I think I heard the good Captain saying he's moving in, but surely that can't be the case. What did you hear?"

"I'm not playing, Tony," Steve replied before Bruce could get over his own surprise. "This just isn't healthy, not for you and not for anyone else. Dr. Banner said you wanted us to move in anyway. If doing that will stop you from getting drunk in your workshop, I'll just be happy to do it."

"You sure you want to do that, Captain?" Tony's eyes were surprisingly sharp for his rather lacking sobriety. "Sure you want to hang around a selfish piece of shit who'll never be a hero?"

Steve flinched, but didn't let Tony's barb make him back away. "Yes." Well, he at least sounded sure enough. "If that's what it takes to keep you from doing stupid things, yes, I want to do that."

"Well, aren't you the perfect hero." Tony's eyebrows flew high. "Throwing yourself on the wire that is my glorious presence so I won't go on another drunken rampage. Really, they should give you a medal. Another one, I mean."

"…I'm sorry." Well, that was not what Bruce had expected Steve to say. "I was wrong about you. And now… I've been spending my time visiting graves. The graves of the men I fought with, before. I figured I could spend time with the ones who are still alive, for a change." Okay, wow, they were such a bunch of issues it wasn't even remotely funny.

"Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you." Tony made another finger-stab motion. "Here's the deal, mon capitano: long as you live here, I won't get drunk in the workshop, because you and Bruce outvote me and could probably carry me around like a doll if you wanted to. I reserve the right to get as drunk as I please in the parts of the building that do not contain explosives, repulsor technology, or live ammunition. That good enough for you two?"

"Tony, it's not —" Bruce started, only to be interrupted as Tony whirled towards him instead, pointing at him in turn.

"And you, Bruce, are a traitor to everything science bros stand for. I'll get you for this yet, don't think I won't. When I finally figure out a way to make Hulk-proof pants I'm going to make them a hideously clashing shade of purple. You'll have to choose between naked and fashion disaster."

"I'm sure I'll never be able to live that down." Bruce did his best not to sound too amused.

"Damn sure you won't." Tony gave a satisfied little huff, looking smug at his ingenuous revenge plan. Setting his bottle down on the table, he wandered further into the workshop. "Jarvis! Order food. A lot of food, all different kinds. I just know big and blond here is going to eat a ton with his metabolism. Oh, and bacon. Lots of bacon."

Steve stared after him for a moment, then turned towards Bruce, his calm and collected captain front falling in the way of what could only be called befuddlement. "What exactly happened there?"

"I think," Bruce said slowly, "that you just agreed to Tony's madcap plan in return for him not getting drunk in one particular room of his house."

"Right." Steve paused, looking thoughtful. "I suppose this means he actually does want us living in his house, then."

Bruce couldn't help but chuckle. "Come on, let me show you your room. It's been ready for quite a while now. Tony designed it himself."

It really was a pity Tony was currently busy giving Jarvis instructions, as Bruce was sure he would have enjoyed the shocked look on Steve's face.

*

"Captain Rogers?" Jarvis's voice seemed louder than usual in the silence of the tower at night. "Sir has returned from his excursion."

"Thank you, Jarvis." Steve set aside his sketchbook, running a hand over his hair. He glanced out of the window and frowned. When had it gotten so dark?

"Sir was away for a total of five hours," Jarvis added, likely guessing his thoughts. "He also returned in the company of a young lady." Jarvis's voice was perfectly calm and neutral in a manner that sounded quite more forced than Steve would have thought possible for something artificial.

"Thanks for the heads-up." He might have felt guilty about prying into Tony's privacy like that, but then it wasn't like Tony made a secret of his conquests. The first time he had gone out to drink, two days after Steve moved in, Steve had found him being quite affectionate with his companion for the night right there in the living room. After that Tony had agreed to keep such displays out of the public spaces, but Steve still preferred a fair warning to an accidental discovery that a drunk Tony did not always remember such discretion.

"Thank you, Captain. It is always easier to deal with Sir's moods when I am not the only one concerned by them."

"I'm sure you're rarely the only one." Steve stood up from his desk and stretched. Not that he was particularly stiff, but it still felt good to do after sitting down for so long. "After all, Bruce was concerned enough to call me here."

"Indeed. And I am most grateful for that. However, neither Doctor Banner nor I could bring forth any change in Sir's behavioral patterns."

"Right." Steve sighed. "I'm not entirely sure this change is any better. I can count on one hand the times he hasn't gone out to drink and find a lady since I got here, and it's been weeks now."

He wasn't judging, no. People had done essentially the same thing back in the forties; hell, Bucky had done the same thing more often than Steve cared to count. As long as everyone involved knew what they were getting into and no hearts were broken out of malice, Steve had no right to involve himself in the affairs of other people in any way or manner. Just because most people were less secretive about it now didn't suddenly make him disapprove of something that he had come to accept as a fact of life a long time ago. 

For all that he reminded himself of this, however, he found that he could not just sit back and watch Tony spiraling even deeper into this. Not because it was wrong, or because he didn't have the right, but because it was wrong for Tony in this situation. He admitted he hadn't known Tony before Loki, and what little he had heard of Tony's reputation from before did seem to reflect similar patterns, but everything he did know and see seemed to suggest that this was abnormal behavior. And that was without Jarvis admitting that he, the one who knew Tony probably the best, was concerned.

"It is still better than his getting drunk around dangerous substances." Jarvis paused. "It seems Sir has reached his private quarters with his companion."

"Right." Steve glanced at the clock on the wall. It was well past midnight. Tony had somewhat scoffed on his insistence on having a regular clock, pointing out that Jarvis could always tell the time if he just asked, but Steve had managed to convince him by saying he didn't want to bother Jarvis with every little thing. Of course, this had earned him some mocking on how obviously Jarvis could do a thousand times that, but Steve could tell that Tony was actually pleased that he was treating Jarvis as a real person.

Despite the late hour, Steve didn't hesitate before heading out of his room. This was his home as much as anyone else's at this point, and he had been drawing in his room for hours now while waiting for Tony to return, too restless to even try sleeping as long as Tony was out. And now that he had returned, Steve found himself famished, so sleep would have to wait another moment.

There were some traces of Tony stumbling through the common area, a shoe here, a magazine knocked off a side table there. Steve very carefully avoided looking at the couple of articles of clothing dropped along the way to Tony's room. That was not something he needed to be thinking about.

The lights adjusted on their own as he walked into the kitchen, something that had taken him a little while to get used to. At least he could think of everything as Jarvis's work, even though Tony's explanations had left him with the impression that a lot of the functions of the place were more or less automatized and there was very little Jarvis had to consciously involve himself with. It was just easier to think of an invisible helper doing everything rather than the lights knowing they should turn on when someone walked in.

Coming to think of it… "Jarvis?" He glanced at the ceiling, just briefly. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"You are free to inquire anything you wish, Captain Rogers," Jarvis replied with a pleasant tone. "I will answer to the best of my ability."

"Is this kind of behavior normal for Tony?" Steve frowned then at his own words, waving a hand as he walked to the fridge, trying to find a better way to put it. "I mean, obviously this is not how he spends all this time, drinking and sleeping with strangers every night. He wouldn't get anything done if that were the case."

"Indeed not. While he does have his occasional bouts of negligence, and has only recently begun to achieve a sense of actual responsibility, Sir has always prioritized his own work before everything else, even his body's desires."

"So, is this his usual way of dealing with bad spots?" Ohh, leftover steaks. This was going to be great.

Jarvis took a moment to answer, enough so for Steve to take the leftovers to the table, and when it did, it was with something that almost resembled reluctance. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know, Captain."

"What do you mean?" Steve frowned. "I'm pretty sure you know Tony better than anyone."

"I have some evidence that it might be the case, yes. However, even my databases on Sir's behavior only go so far. There has to my knowledge only been one other time in his life when he has lost someone extremely important to him, and I was only constructed some time after his mother's passing."

"But Miss Potts isn't gone. I mean, not for good. Right?" From what he had heard from Bruce, she wouldn't just disappear like that and leave Tony on his own. 

"I do not believe she is. I have the utmost faith that she will return in due time and do her best to bring back their previous friendship. However, I am not quite certain Sir has the same view."

"So… you're saying nothing else besides his mother's death has affected Tony this badly?" Steve felt vaguely ill. It didn't much affect his appetite, though. In the war he had learned to eat when food was available, not when he felt like it.

"I really am not sure how to answer that, Captain." Jarvis sounded almost apologetic. "It would be most foolish of me to claim that his capture did not affect him, but the effect of that incident drove him away from alcohol and unattached relations, not toward them."

"Do you know why that is?" By now he knew, more or less, what had happened to Tony in Afghanistan. Between the news reports he had managed to dig up, the SHIELD file, and Bruce, he was fairly sure he had a more accurate picture than most. Frankly, it was hard to imagine anything affecting him worse than that.

"I do not know the reason for the difference, I'm afraid." He got the feeling there would have been a sigh if Jarvis had actually had any use for air. "The closest to an explanation I might offer is that Sir has always had a somewhat better track record of acting in aid of those he cares about than looking out for himself. I would imagine no harm to himself could affect him quite as badly as depriving him of the company of those closest to him."

"Right." Which was not exactly a pleasant answer. Nevertheless, it rather failed to surprise him, even if it was directly contrary to how most people saw Tony. Even after their relatively short acquaintance he knew better than to look on the surface alone with Tony Stark.

For some time, Steve stayed silent, going through his food while he turned their conversation around in his mind. Finally, he realized there was one point he had to address, like it or not.

"Jarvis?" he asked, not sure if he should ask the question, not sure if he would like the answer. "Didn't Tony's father die at the same time as his mother?" It had been painful, hearing that particular piece of information, but he was still grateful to have been told. If he hadn't heard about Howard beforehand, he would have been even more undeservedly cruel to Tony when they met at last.

"Indeed he did, Captain." He could tell that Jarvis was using a soft tone, however loud the words seemed in the silence. "They died in the same accident."

Yet it was only his mother's death that had been bad for Tony. "I see. Thank you, Jarvis."

"Any time, Captain."

*

It had been three weeks since she had heard anything from Tony.

Frankly, Pepper was not very surprised. There were things Tony did not deal well with, and just about anything in the realm of social skills fell under that heading. She was sure he would contact her once he was ready; until then, she would have to make do with the updates Jarvis sent her.

At least Jarvis did not seem to blame her for her choice. She'd have rather made enemies with a few assorted supervillains than him.

Of course, the updates weren't entirely positive, but they were more or less in line with what she'd expected. Tony had never been good at facing things directly. Steve and Bruce managing to make him stop mixing alcohol and his technology was already more than she would have dared to hope for.

She opened a new window on her computer, determined to get her thoughts away from Tony and to the new line of tech they were planning to get out in the market within the year. Of course, as luck would have it, she was interrupted by the chime of her personal phone.

She glanced at the screen of her phone and paused as she saw the name there. Rhodey. She wasn't sure when she had last talked with him, even less so when she had last talked with him without Tony being present. Which led neatly to his most likely reason for calling.

Boy, this was going to be fun.

Pepper steeled herself and answered her phone. "Pepper."

"So what is this I hear about you and Tony no longer being a thing?" Well, at least he wasn't wasting any time getting to the point.

Pepper sighed, momentarily closing her eyes. She could already feel a headache coming in. "I wouldn't want to comment on that, seeing how I have no idea what you may have heard or from where." Forcing her eyes open, she glanced at her computer screen and the calendar open there next to her newly opened window. Yes, she did have a moment for a personal phone call. "What is true, though, is that I'm not dating him anymore."

"Right." Rhodey paused for a moment. "Should I come and punch him for you? Is it a punch-worthy infraction? It must be, you've put up with so much from him by now you wouldn't leave him for some trivial matter. Wait, you did leave him, right? Since if he left you, I'm going to get right over there and put his head through the closest wall, because the guy in charge of my weapons is not allowed to be that criminally stupid."

"Yes, it was me, and no, I'd rather there be no punching going on." She almost wanted to laugh, without much humor, that even Tony's best friend immediately thought he must have done something deserving of violence. "I'm the one at fault."

"And how would that happen?"

"I left him and you're asking me how I'm at fault for the break-up?"

"Well, yes, since I can't imagine you just left on a whim. Not after how long it took for you to agree to date him in the first place." She heard a sympathetic tone in his voice. "And you knew exactly what you were getting into before you agreed, so I can't imagine it was just a build-up of insignificant little things."

"It wasn't. It was a build-up of the things that were not insignificant, but also not flaws per se." She drummed her nails against the surface of her desk. "I realized I couldn't be the pretty little maiden sitting at home and waiting for him to come back in one piece, not while I'm dating him. It was bad enough on my nerves when I was just his friend and employee.

 

"I haven't just walked out of his life." She sighed. "God knows he'd fare about as well as your average toddler without anyone to look after him all the time. I'm still running everything, I just need a little bit of distance before I'm ready to actually face him in person."

"Yeah, that's perfectly understandable. And Tony'll come around eventually."

"I certainly hope." Pepper sighed. "The best I can say is that he's not alone right now. Steve and Bruce are keeping an eye on him, as much as they can."

"Steve and Bruce who?"

"I'm just going to go ahead and assume that your main source of information are tabloids and trashy TV, since you knew about the break-up and missed that." Pepper shook her head. "Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner. Or, as you might remember them from that little disturbance we had over here, Captain America and the Hulk." A tiny part of her that had obviously been influenced by far too much Tony wished she could have seen his face right now.

"Wait. That was the real Captain America? The original one? And Tony hasn't introduced us yet?" There was an utterly scandalized tone in Rhodey's voice.

"Well, for one thing, Steve didn't get back in New York until after Tony had already gotten to a point where he thought getting drunk in his workshop was a good idea. And for another, this is the first time we've heard from you since before the Chitauri, aside from some brief reports of War Machine still being active." Which had not exactly been easy on Tony.

"Touché." Rhodey sighed. "And I'm still going to be stuck overseas for a while."

"So, don't complain about not being introduced when you haven't even given Tony a chance." Pepper paused. "I'm sure he'd love to introduce you two, though. And he'd certainly be happy to see you."

"I'll be sure to head over as soon as I get there, then."

"And you could also call him, you know, now that you know he's not the one responsible." Pepper allowed herself a small smile. "I'm sure he'll be delighted to let you know just how much of a jerk he thinks Captain America is." Ignoring his indignant splutters, she turned her eyes back to her computer. "I'm afraid I have to go now. Goodbye, Rhodey."

She was sure he was still mumbling about the impossibility of Captain America being anything but perfect as she hung up.

*

Clint was having trouble sleeping again.

Not that Natasha really blamed him, of course. It was never too easy for them to sleep in a public place, even with the other one keeping watch; planes were just about the worst there was. While Clint had managed it somehow on their way overseas, exhausted as he had been, now he was more rested and thus less inclined to fall asleep.

Her fingertips traced small patterns on the back of his hand, trying to relax him. She wasn't sure it was working, but at least he had the decency to fake sleep for long enough that he managed to fall into uneasy slumber. He still needed the rest, whatever he might have claimed, and she needed him sharp and bright when they made it back to SHIELD and had to deal with Fury and everyone else.

There was a small furrow on his face, a sign of the still lingering anguish that she knew he was hiding from the world, hiding from everyone but her. He had it all together now, covered up and tucked away so deep he almost managed to fool her sometimes, except she knew him better than that. She knew him well enough to spot all the times he glanced to his side, expecting a familiar form there, the times his hand reached for empty air, his lips moving to share some idle thought forh ears that weren't there to hear. It was good enough to fool just about anyone else, though, and that was enough for now, enough for them to be coming back to New York.

They weren't coming home.

New York was not home, not for her. She wasn't sure if it was ever going to be, no matter how long SHIELD insisted on keeping their headquarters there. She had always been a drifter in her work, always one mission after another. There was no point in getting attached to places when your next operation would be on the other side of the world. Of course, she had places she liked more than others, but none of them was her home.

At some point, she had realized she thought of selected people as her home, some time after she had decided it might actually be worth the effort to care about someone. Clint and Coulson had been the first ones to actually care about her as anything more than a weapon or an asset, the first to imply that perhaps she could also be counted as a person. Before them, she had never had a home that she could remember, but they had warped her world to the point where coming back to them was the closest she could get to coming home.

Of course, now Coulson was gone and Clint was broken, but then, no home was ever perfect.

Things were somewhat different for Clint, she knew as much. He had shared Coulson's quarters at SHIELD, and though neither of them had been any more inclined to grow attached to places than Natasha had, she knew that for Clint, that had been home. Mostly because of Coulson, yes, but at least the thought of Coulson had been anchored to one place.

She didn't even mention the word now, knowing all too well Clint would not have reacted well. He had no home to return to now that Coulson wouldn't be there; the only reason they were going back at all was that they had nowhere else to go, and if they had dropped off the grid Fury would have sent someone after them sooner or later. Of course, it wasn't like they couldn't shake a tail, but a peaceful life it did not make. And peace was what Clint needed right now, at least for a little while.

Of course, going back to SHIELD meant new missions. And new missions meant a new handler. For all that she knew Clint could deal with a few others, such as Sitwell, she wasn't sure it would be a good idea this soon. Not when she was still hurting.

Maybe there was an alternative, she mused, thinking back to Fury's messages. If they did move in with Stark, they would be more or less on SHIELD's radar, thus making it unnecessary for Fury to bother them. She was also confident she could spin "keeping Stark under control" into a more or less satisfying mission for the moment, especially given the fact he had apparently split with Potts. She didn't want to even imagine what the man would get up to if left unchecked, and she knew damn well Fury wasn't going to find out.

Clint would probably agree, not that she planned to ask him as much as inform him about their new plans. If she asked, he might feel compelled to claim he could handle it, no problem, now don't be silly Nat of course he can take a new handler. It would be much easier for them both if she left him no choice, allowing him to pretend it wasn't what he wanted and needed.

Her home was with Clint, for all intents and purposes, and that meant keeping him happy. And if the closest approximation to happiness she could offer him was a break from SHIELD and the constant reminders… well, she supposed she could share her home with a few others for a while. Especially if that sharing came with a room in what Tony Stark called a house.

Clint shifted beside her, lips forming words even she couldn't hear, sitting right next to him. However, it didn't exactly take much of a genius to guess that he was calling for Phil in his sleep. She'd heard it often enough in the past few weeks, in every tone imaginable, longing and desire and contentment and horror. He didn't look like he was having a nightmare, so she decided not to wake him; a peaceful dream about Phil would at least give him a moment's reprieve.

He needed all the comfort he could get right now. They still had to visit the Helicarrier before going to Stark.

*

The first thing he noticed about the woman sitting down next to her were the legs that seemed to go on forever. Letting his eyes trace them up from the fine ankles, he found quite remarkable thighs, then the hem of a short, black dress.

"Well, good afternoon." He smirked. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Sure. I'll have a vodka."

He knew that voice. Eyes shooting right past the rest of her body, he found himself staring at the very familiar face of Natasha Romanov. "Ah. Hi."

"That vodka, Stark?" Her lips curled in a manner that did not appear very amused.

"Right. Will do." He knew better than to question her until she had what she wanted. That way lay only pain and the thighs of death.

For someone clearly dressed for going to bar, Natasha didn't look like she was enjoying herself very much, Tony noted as he got her the drink. Rather, it appeared as though she had rather been anywhere else at the moment.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, sipping at his own scotch. "Doesn't seem like the kind of place you would frequent."

"It's cute how you think you know anything about my preferences." Natasha gave him a wry smile. "Actually, I'm here for you."

"Me?" Tony blinked. "I'm flattered, I suppose. Well, unless you're here to kill me or something, in which case I'll have to congratulate your employer for actually finding a plausible way of getting rid of me, after which I'll high tail it out of here if you don't mind."

"Oh, nothing quite that drastic." She snorted. "Satisfying though it would be to finish you off."

"Well, if anyone could actually finish the job, it's you." He paused. "Well, you or the Hulk, but I like to think of him as my friend. Or at least as unlikely to tear my head off, which is something I'd prefer to avoid, really. I'm quite fond of my head."

"And the sound of your own voice, obviously." She rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her vodka. "We're moving in."

"Oh?" He blinked. "I assume this 'we' refers to you and Barton, and 'in' to the Stark Tower?" Hey, less work for him trying to convince them. "So do you two want the honeymoon suite or what?"

"How very amusing, Stark. Separate rooms will do just fine."

"It just so happens I've had a set of sleeping quarters designed specifically for each of you." He grinned. "Your shooting range should be finished by the end of the week, but most of the area's already been renovated."

"You're building us our own shooting range?" She quirked one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"Of course I am. Wouldn't want to risk you taking aim at me because you haven't had enough shots lately." He finished his scotch, then shrugged. "Steve and Bruce have already settled in, though I still kind of expect Steve to get lost one of these days. That or get all disapproving that we’re using so much space."

"Maybe." There was a message sound and Natasha drew her mobile phone from somewhere that Tony decided not to think too closely about. At least not until he was out of kicking range. Better focus on something else, like the atrociously outdated model of her phone. He'd have to get her the latest Starkphone at the earliest opportunity; it would ruin his reputation if his associates went around with inferior products.

"So where is Hawkass, anyway? I'd have figured he would have liked a drink."

"Where do you think?" Natasha gave him an almost amused gaze. "I didn't just check every bar in the city to find you. I wasn't quite that desperate to locate you."

"You already visited the Tower." Of course. Jarvis would have known exactly where he could be found.

"Obviously. We were going to both come to get you at first, but Clint wasn't feeling very sociable. Instead, I got the kidnapping duty and he stayed behind to let me know if you changed locations before I got here."

"Birdbrain isn't feeling sociable? Should I worry?"

"Maybe, though not for his sake." All of a sudden Natasha was on her feet, and Tony found himself wondering when she had finished her vodka. "According to Clint's text just now, Steve says you've been drowning your sorrows just about every night lately."

"And? I'm a grown man. I've got every damn right to get drunk if I so please." Except in his workshop, which was just terribly unfair, but he supposed he could understand the basic point of their disagreement.

"Correction: You had every right." Natasha's hand appeared on his shoulder. "You're worrying the good Captain, so in the interests of the continued peace and happiness of everyone in the tower, you're either going to get your shit together or I'm going to kick it out of you."

"Right." He looked up at her, only momentarily distracted by the lovely red locks, and swallowed. "I guess you're a lady of your word."

"You don't know how much." Her grip tightened. "Now be a good host and get home to show us our rooms."

He wasn't going to protest, of course, he wasn't exactly that actively self-destructive, but then he never got a chance to even try. Before he could say anything, she had hauled him to his feet, then in one smooth movement threw him over her shoulder and started walking out of the bar. Tony felt the eyes on them, and wondered just how many tabloids would be getting a very interesting tidbit, and was that one guy recording them with his phone?

"You know," he heard his own voice saying, "I usually don't protest at being picked up at a bar by a beautiful woman, but this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

Okay, so maybe he was just a bit self-destructive.

*

The blood was still there, of course. It would have been impossible to clean it off without damaging the cards, and Clint wasn't about to take that risk. Sure, the cards were worthless now as collectibles, little dents and scratches were nothing compared with blood spatters, but as mementos of Phil, they couldn't have been more precious.

They were all he had, either way, aside from the icy burn of the two rings hanging around his neck.

He should have been in his own rooms, or perhaps in the nest he was building for himself in the ventilation system, and honestly he was pretty sure Stark had made the vents larger than strictly necessary in the renovation for that exact purpose. He should have been somewhere quiet and private and safe before he took the cards out, but right now he was too tired to care. Too tired, and missing Phil too much to hesitate. All he wanted was a reminder, a bit of proof that Phil had been there, that he hadn't always been so painfully alone.

If he'd had any doubt about his exhaustion, it would have been chased away by the fact he didn't notice Cap approaching until the couch dipped a bit at the additional weight, the presence of another settling down right next to him.

"Those are Coulson's." It wasn't a question. It would have been a damn stupid question if it had been. It wasn't like there were that many vintage sets of Captain America cards soiled in heroic blood.

"Yeah." Clint swallowed, willing his voice not to betray his pain. "He didn't have much in the way of personal effects. Fury let me have these."

"Right." There was a momentary silence. "Did he have, ah, anyone?"

"Not really." Clint shook his head, eyes fixed on the cards, running a fingertip along the edges. They had been so precious to Phil, such a cause of pride, and now here Clint was sitting next to Captain America himself and Phil wasn't here to share the moment. It just wasn't fair.

"Tony said he heard there was someone," Cap said, the tone not accusing him of lying, just contemplative. "A… cellist, was it?"

"Right. A cellist." Working with a bow. That had always made Phil's lips twitch just so, however stupid the joke was. "She moved to Portland, I think. Didn't quite work out." And hey, the least Phil could have done was update his cover story to Clint himself, or at least not go and change it while he was compromised. He'd had to piece that little bit together from what Tony had told him Pepper had said. Portland, really?

"I'm sorry to hear that." For what? That the guy he had known for a matter of hours hadn't had an active girlfriend at the time of his death? Clint's grip on the cards tightened, his knuckles white. "Was there any family?"

"Nah. An only child, I think. His dad died when he was just a kid. In Vietnam, for what it's worth." Clint shrugged. "It was a family trait to get into bad situations."

"And his mother?" And, shit, there was that, wasn't there.

"Died a few years back. Just old age for her; she had him pretty late." He paused. "I'm sorry."

"Huh?" Cap frowned, looking at him with a puzzled expression. "Why are you sorry?"

"Just." Clint shook his head. "She knew you."

"She did?" The frown deepened. "I don't…"

"Just, ah, a minute." He swallowed, gathering himself as he folded the cards back into a neat stack, sliding them back into their designated pocket. "Jarvis, you can access the files on my tablet, right?" Which really should have bothered him more, giving anyone or anything else a look at what he had there, but then he'd learned a long time ago that if there was something he couldn't afford to share with anyone, he had better not have it in the first place. And, hey, the tablet had been a gift from Stark; if he'd been that concerned about a snooping AI he would have never transferred what little data he had on there.

"Indeed I can." The calm British voice seemed perfectly unaffected by this presumption. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to access?"

"Could you bring up a picture from there for me?" Clint closed his eyes momentarily, trying to remember the file tree. "The general Pictures folder, sub-folder Phil, filename Blackmail_1." If Cap found it odd that he had an entire folder of pictures named Phil, or unacceptable that he had a file called blackmail, he never said a word.

"Right away." And indeed without delay an aged picture flickered into life on the TV screen. There was a young boy in the middle, Phil at the ripe old age of thirteen, dressed in his best for Bar Mitzvah. He was flanked by two women, an elderly grandmother on one side, a somewhat younger but already graying lady on the other. They were all smiling at the camera, pride and happiness radiating from the past. Clint had to swallow.

"That is…" Words seemed to flee from Cap, eyes fixed on the screen.

"Peggy Coulson, nee Carter," Clint finished for him. "It wasn't just stories of his father that first inspired him to get into the military." He paused. "Wasn't just comic books that made him a fan of you, either."

"He was Peggy's son." There was a somewhat strangled quality to Steve's voice. "Peggy's son and I didn't even…"

"Hey, he never told you, did he?" Clint shrugged uncomfortably, eyes sliding away from the picture. He could almost swear Peggy was staring out at him, reminding him of the promises he'd made, how he had sworn to keep her only son safe and then failed her so spectacularly. It was kind of pitiful, he supposed, being still intimidated by his mother-in-law years after she had passed.

Then again, if she really had been here, she probably would have pulled him into a hug and berated Phil for being so inconsiderate as to leave him behind, really now he had been raised better than to do that to anyone.

It wasn't until the silence had stretched on for a while that he realized Cap had left, leaving him alone with the now darkened screen, the cards heavy in his pocket and a lump in his throat.

*

His mother was in his dream.

That was mostly how he could tell it was a dream, given the fact that she had been dead for years now. Yet here she was, her hair without a hint of the gray he'd seen there ever since his childhood, looking at him with pursed lips and a stern expression. This didn't look good.

"Mother," he said, his own voice sounding foreign to his ears. "What are you doing here?"

"I would think you would know." She shifted, then, her head turning to the side just a fraction, and suddenly she was wearing the army uniform he'd only ever seen on her in old pictures and video reels. "I would think the more prudent question would be, why did you bring me here?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be asking, now would I?" He ran a hand over his hair, not surprised to find the movement too light and easy to be real. Or at least corporeal. "Wait. Am I dead?"

"Are you asking if this is Heaven?" She looked at him, amusement dancing on her lips. Great. Either his mother or his own subconsciousness thought he was being amusing. He wasn't even sure which one would be worse.

"Unless you would like to convince me you are in Hell, I suppose that is what I am asking, yes."

"Oh, dear." She laughed, and the sound was so delightfully familiar it made him ache. It had been far too long since he had last heard the sound, and even now it sounded almost… faded. "Could you truly imagine some form of Heaven where you and I meet with no sigh of your father and grandmother?"

"I suppose not, no." He shook his head. "Pity. I would have liked to talk with you. I mean, the real you, not… this." He waved his hand toward the image of his mother.

"Would you really prefer that?" Her eyebrows rose high, all signs of amusement gone. "Would you trade all you have in life for a chance at a chat with a dead woman?"

"What do I have left in life, though?" He couldn't help the slightest hint of bitterness in his voice. "I have lost the most important thing I had left."

"Have you, though? He is not dead."

"He was compromised, and is as good as. I refuse to get hopeful without proof that I can get him back."

"And how will you get that proof if you do nothing but lie asleep?" She tsked.

"And if I wake up and find a world without him?" He had enough nightmares of that as it was. Not that he had much else than nightmares, anyway. Certainly nothing he could remember, ever since the attack.

"But either way, you will wake into a world with heroes." She gave him a level look. "A world where Captain America is not just a myth, where gods fight monsters alongside ordinary men."

"And what if it's not that?" he asked, his voice quiet. "What if they failed? What if it was in vain?"

"If they failed, who is keeping you alive?" She shifted again, and then it wasn't his mother, but the Captain instead, giving him a disapproving look as though he were a soldier sleeping on duty. He blinked, and she was back. "It's time to wake up, Phil. Time to see if your sacrifice was in vain."

He wanted to say something, wanted to reach out for her, but she dissolved into nothing before his eyes. A wave of darkness overcame him, and when he opened his eyes again, he was aching all over. His body felt heavy as though it were full of lead, the pain as he tried to move almost enough to make him black out again.

Pain. He was in pain. He was awake, had to be.

Slowly, he forced his eyes open, staring at the barely visible ceiling of a darkened room. There was the quiet sound of several machines around him, the surface beneath him doubtlessly a hospital bed.

A dark form stood beside his bed, visible as he shifted his head the minute bit he could manage before the pain got too great. He couldn't make out any details in the dark, but he knew someone was watching him.

Then it was too much for him again, and he fell back into the previous darkness, this time devoid of any mysterious visitors.


	3. On the Wrong Side of Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a battle that almost goes wrong, Tony finally has to face a very worried Pepper Potts. After that, the Avengers have team dinners, make amazing scientific breakthroughs that may or may not involve poking at Clint but absolutely no explosions, honestly Pepper I promise, catch up on some sleep lost to insomnia, and have terribly sentimental heart-to-hearts. Really, it's for things like this that three in the morning exists.
> 
> Of course, when Tony gets handed a picture with rather mind-boggling implications, all that might come crumbling down. And somehow, somewhere, Phil wants to know about Clint.

Tony, it appeared, was quite fond of trading one bad habit for another. After Natasha's little intervention, he no more visited the bar every night, not even every other night. Instead, he kept locking himself up in his lab for days on end, which left Steve at his wit's end. On one hand, he knew Tony was an adult and should have been able to care for himself. On the other hand, he had been informed by reliable sources that Tony was not always at all able to act like a responsible adult.

Of course, as Tony kept disappearing for various stretches of time, they started devising strategies to drag him out. Steve was worried, because as the presumed team leader it was his responsibility to care for his team, and besides, regardless of what Steve had said, Tony was a good man. Bruce worried right along with him, somehow managing to be more clear and open about his concern than Steve could even imagine despite saying nary a word about the subject. The others mostly played along, though whether out of concern for Tony or to placate the two of them, Steve wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Even as they teamed up, though, they couldn't get Tony out of his lab for any significant amount of time. Even at the rare times they did convince him to come out under whatever pretense, he always slipped back after what felt like just a moment, still looking just as worn and haggard as before. Bruce assured Steve he had done this sometimes even before Pepper had left him, only to ruin the assurances by looking incredibly worried.

As it happened, the one who finally managed to draw Tony out of his lab for any significant amount of time was Dr. Doom. Having decided to strike New York while the Fantastic Four were away, he got to make his debut as an opponent to the Avengers, a role Steve was sure the good doctor was going to be simply thrilled to have once they finished crushing his bots. As soon as they got the alarm Steve had rushed to warn Tony, only to find him already changed into his flight suit by the time Steve reached his workshop, eyes bright and sharp as he instructed Jarvis in piecing together the suit around him.

For one fleeting moment Steve found himself wondering why he hadn't thought of this before. By the time he shook off his guilt over having such thoughts, Tony was almost entirely encased in his red and gold cover. "So, Cap. Shall we go have some fun?"

Steve forced a smile onto his face and nodded. "Let's go crush the bad guys."

He chose to pretend that the flat tone of Tony's voice was due to the suit distorting it.

His concern for the remaining hints that Tony was less than fine faded quickly as they got to the site of the battle, finding the streets flooded with Doom's bots. Steve started organizing his team, everyone following his strategies seamlessly as though they had been doing this for years and weren't just on their second actual mission as a team. Hawkeye took care of surveillance on his high perch, telling each of them exactly what they needed to know about the enemies, Steve and Natasha keeping them contained on the street level while Tony sniped them off from the air with his repulsors, Hulk smashing everything that came in his way.

Steve was fairly sure he heard things over the comm link that suggested Clint and Natasha were having a competition about the number of enemies they had taken down, joined by Hulk of all people. He wasn't sure if he should have been happy or worried about this development. At least it was helping cut a rather wide swath in the opposition, so he supposed he could leave any worrying for later.

Of course, their enemy couldn't at least show him the courtesy to pick his own time to get worried, and instead decided to force it on him just as the tide of the fight seemed to have taken a decisive turn for their favor. Because Doom was apparently of the opinion that sending out dozens if not hundreds of doombots simply to have them crushed as soon as they crossed paths with any Avenger was a brilliant idea, Steve supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to realize that he had never planned to bring any of his minions out of the battlefield anyway.

The fact that this realization came in the form of a bomb was enough to make him swear aloud. Natasha gave him an odd look, but he ignored it. He knew for a fact she didn't think much of people swearing in her presence, not that the knowledge managed to entirely push aside the little hint of guilt in his heart even as she disappeared from sight, doubtlessly anticipating his instructions.

"We need to clear out," he said over the comm, running even as he spoke. The effort of keeping his voice level as he leaped over an upturned car made his lungs clutch in a manner he hadn't felt since the serum had more or less wiped his asthma away. "Focus on getting civilians off, now. I don't know what the blast radius of this thing is, but it can't be very small if Doom's actually aiming to take us out."

"If it's effective enough to take even the closest buildings down, there's no way we can get away without casualties," Clint's voice came in over the comm link. "So it really boils down to how much time we have before it blows."

"My scanners aren't showing any kind of transmission receptors, and I'd be jamming any sudden signals coming in anyway, so I doubt it's operated remotely," Tony offered his assessment. "That means either some kind of a trigger, which would be hellishly stupid, or it runs on a timer."

"We don't know how much time there is left, though," Steve pointed out. "He wouldn't have left too much on it or everyone would be clear, rendering it pointless aside from property damage."

"Not too short, either, though." Clint's voice was tight with tension. "He couldn't have known precisely how long it would take his bots to get the bomb to our vicinity. Which also means that if he wanted to be sure to harm more than one or two of us, it's got to be strong enough to take down more than just a wall or two."

"And all this boils down to the somewhat narcissistic assumption that the whole mess is targeted at us in the first place." Steve wasn't sure if Tony sounded more amused or exasperated. "I mean, I'm all for egoistic delusions, as I'm sure several of you have witnessed with your own two eyes, but we aren't the only targets in New York. Maybe he was gunning for the Fantastic Four and just didn't know they were out of the city. In which case, hey, bonus, we get to claim Reed's destruction. Always hated the fucker anyway."

"You're babbling." Natasha sounded ever so slightly out of breath, yet her voice was crisp in Steve's ear. "Which means your brain is currently working on overdrive. With the amount of nonsense, I suspect you have at least a preliminary plan by now."

"Ah, my lovely Natasha, how right you are." Just then, Steve saw Iron Man soaring overhead — right toward the location of the bomb. "Hulk! Hey, buddy, come along!" And by either some miracle or some very ingenious planning on Tony's part, the Hulk appeared just then with a roar from between two buildings, leaping after Iron Man.

Steve wasn't sure what to expect, wasn't sure if he actually dared to expect anything at all. What he did see was the flare of Iron Man's repulsors shooting up, the echo of the Hulk's roar the only warning before something significantly less red and shiny flew right up after him. Steve could only stare with horrified fascination as Iron Man attached himself to the other form, continuing his climbing flight up a perfectly vertical path.

Natasha said something in Russian. Steve didn't need to know the words to be shocked at the rudeness of her swears; that much was transmitted quite well through her tone alone. There was no response from Tony, though, nor did he give one when Steve called for him. Nothing but silence.

"What the Hell is Stark doing?" Clint demanded. "There's no portal this time for him to dumb it into."

"This one's hopefully not a nuke, though." Steve was almost amazed at how calm his own voice sounded. He would have expected it to come out strangled. "Theoretically, if he can get it high enough, the shock wave will be dissipated enough by the time it comes down not to do too much damage."

"If he'd left it where it was, the surrounding buildings would have absorbed most of it, though." Natasha sounded like she wanted to swear some more.

"Except those buildings were not entirely empty yet," Steve pointed out. "And as you said, if Doom wanted to do significant damage, he might well have come up with some explosive powerful enough to topple more than that."

"If it's that strong, imagine how high he'd have to take it to keep it from spreading the damage even further," Clint pointed out. "How far up can his suit go, anyway? Never thought to ask that."

"I think he mentioned something about solving an icing problem, once." Steve could see Natasha approaching his position even as she spoke. "Considering this would have been when he was in Malibu, and he made his first test flights at night time to avoid attention, the temperature at ground level would have been something between 46 and 60 degrees Fahrenheit."

"Average lapse rate is 3.5 degrees Fahrenheit per a thousand feet," Clint added, and Steve wondered why he would need such knowledge in the first place before remembering Bucky's insistence that sniping could be a very exact science at times. "For there to be actual ice on his suit, he'd have had to reach at least 32 degrees, probably less than that given that the suit must give off heat. That in turn means his suit at that point would've had to be able to go at least a mile straight up. I pretty much doubt he'd be doing less than that."

"Of course," Steve pointed out, looking up to where the Iron Man's form was turning smaller and smaller, probably invisible by now to anyone without his exceptional eyesight, "that's without the weight of the bomb — and without a time limit."

Just then, as though on cue, the tiny blot turned into a blossoming explosion, a heavy boom echoing it a moment later. Some small part of Steve's brain was quickly trying to calculate the distance from the time lapse, while the rest of him was recoiling in horror, searching for something, anything, to show that Tony hadn't been blown to pieces right along with it.

Then the comm link flared to life. "Well, that was a fun ride." Steve's eyes caught the form of something red and shiny pummeling toward the ground, though the descent was not entirely uncontrolled. "Hope not a lot of people were enjoying the great outdoors, that thing's showering bits and pieces everywhere."

"Tony!" Steve couldn't help the urgent tone of his voice. "Tony, what happened?"

"Oh, you know. Saved the day once again." How could Tony sound so — so cheerful? "Had the big guy give the bomb a starting boost, figured that with every second counting it was probably best not to rely on my repulsors alone to get it off the ground and into the air."

"You weren't answering us, you idiot. How about try not to give us all heart attacks the next time you decide it must fall upon you to save our asses?"

"Love you too, Katniss." Tony chuckled, and Steve wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or punch the man. Possibly both, though he wasn't entirely clear on the best order of actions. "Yeah, so, when I took the thing into my loving embrace the scanners showed it did have a receptor, very well hidden at that, since I couldn't pick it up from further away. The whole way up Jarvis was jamming a signal that suddenly had something very urgent to tell the bomb soon as I caught it. So, yeah, that kind of put a bit of a damper on things, however much I usually love to chat with you. But hey, we can braid each other's hair later, right?"

"You know, Nat, I really don't think babbling is his way of signaling a brain overdrive," Clint said, but there was no mistaking the relieved tone in his voice despite the biting words. "It's just the dial tone while his head is busy trying to track down a single thought."

"In this case, it's just a poor distraction." Natasha was now close enough for Steve to see her frown before they both turned to look toward the approaching Iron Man. "Say, mister metal suit, exactly how far from the bomb could your system jam the signal?"

"Um." Tony seemed to almost halt in the air for a moment. "Further away than it could find the receptor?"

"Let me put it this way instead. Just how close to the explosion were you still when the signal finally got through?"

"I'm all in one piece!" And yet as Tony approached Steve could clearly see his suit had taken a beating.

"That you need to clarify that proves you were closer than you should have been." Steve frowned as well. "I don't care how well you claim to be, Iron Man. I want you thoroughly checked by someone medically qualified soon as we're out of the field." He paused. "And Dr. Banner does not count."

"Hey, how about a little respect for the guy who just saved all of our asses and quite a few civilians besides?" Which would have been a much more convincing argument if it had not been delivered by a very clearly damaged armor.

"No arguments, Iron Man. I'll carry you to medical myself if I have to." He paused. "Bridal style."

Tony was about to argue still, Steve just knew it, except he was cut off by a huge green form suddenly leaping to the scene and drawing him into big, crushing arms like a child might do to a teddy bear. "Shiny man should not go boom," the Hulk announced with a stern tone, and Steve found himself very much agreeing.

Not even Tony would try to argue with an upset Hulk, thankfully, and they were running low on doombots to take down. Soon enough they managed to get to the SHIELD transport. Tony, being paranoid as he was, argued against taking his suit off, but when Steve threatened to try and see how well it would do against his super strength, he apparently figured using the manual release to get the suit off and let a SHIELD medic check him for injuries was the lesser of two evils. Once the suit came off, he had no apparent shame whatsoever, peeling off his flight suit right in front of everyone, apparently more concerned with keeping his eyes on his discarded suit every moment than with the fact that he was sitting in front of everyone, including Natasha, in nothing but his boxers.

The suit had absorbed most of the damage, or so Tony claimed, accompanied by copious claims that he hadn't actually been very close to the explosion at all and they were all making a mountain out of a molehill. This claim wasn't exactly helped by the fact his body was starting to get covered with bruises all over, but at least the medic didn't seem to find anything more serious.

By the time they reached the Avengers Tower, Tony was pulling his flight suit back on, still without a hint of shyness. After some arguing he agreed to let Steve get the suit out of the transport with the very strict condition that it be given over to Jarvis as soon as possible. Steve wasn't even much taken aback by the fact that Tony apparently trusted his house with his technology more than Steve, which probably told more about his life than anything else. By the time the suit had been given over to various robotic arms and they walked into the common floor, the tension had faded enough that Steve actually found himself almost smiling at Tony's complaints that he needed a shower, seriously Steve, you must be so very comfy in your nice thin armor while I'm encased in a metal container, it's just so unfair all around. The others were also making to leave at that point, Clint gone more or less the moment they touched down, Natasha promising Steve with a few words and a long look to make sure the good doctor got to bed before collapsing in his post-transformation exhaustion.

That was when they were greeted by a very displeased Pepper Potts.

Steve had not had the pleasure of meeting Miss Potts personally before this. However, she was easy enough to recognize from descriptions given to him by Bruce and a picture Jarvis had shown him when he had first been trying to make sense of the enigma that was Tony Stark. He remembered the picture very well, a candid shot probably from a security camera of some sort, Tony talking in an animated manner while Pepper smiled at him. It had made a deep impression on Steve because it was perhaps the only time he had seen Tony look so unguardedly happy. Smirking, sure, smugly satisfied, several times, but the picture with Pepper had been his only peek into a truly happy Tony.

Now Pepper was here, despite the fact that she and Tony were not together anymore, and she was not smiling. There was a momentary softening of her expression as she nodded at Bruce and, somewhat to Steve's surprise, Natasha, before turning her attention to Tony. "What," she started, her voice sharp and cutting, "was that?"

"What was what?" The look on Tony's face was guarded, and Steve couldn't help but notice the way his shoulders shifted up, just a bit.

"As though you don't know." Pepper walked closer with crisp strides, her heels clicking against the floor with as ominous tones as any gunfire Steve had ever heard. "What have I told you about using yourself as an explosive relocation device?"

"Uh." Tony's expression shifted to one of a cornered animal, a wild look in his eyes as though hoping for an escape. "Not to do it?"

"Precisely." She came to a stop a few strides short of reaching him, her gaze no less sharp for it. Or maybe it just made it more effective. "And yet what do I hear you did in the battle today?"

"In my defense, the circumstances were somewhat against me." Tony spread his arms, giving a half-flinch as doing so probably tugged at something the wrong way. "It was that or let a few blocks of downtown buildings come down on innocent civilians."

"You did it again." Pepper's voice somehow managed to be cold and hot at the same time. "You promised me, Tony."

"Yeah, well, back when I promised you that, we were still a thing. As in, you know, an us." For a second Tony let some pain slip into his tone before letting it be covered by a lop-sided smile and a raised eyebrow. "I figured that fell under the same category as a lot of other promises I made. Like, you know, the time I promised to always stand by you. Though then," and now the levity in his voice was clearly fake, "I do recall adding the condition of 'as long as you'll have me.'"

"I can't believe you." Her eyebrows were set in a line of anger, but Steve doubted that was the emotion that made her eyes glisten with unshed tears. He was starting to feel quite uncomfortable. "This is precisely why I ended us, Tony! Because you just can't adjust yourself to the idea that somehow, somewhere, someone might actually be hoping for you to come home!"

"Really?" Tony cocked his head just a bit. "And I thought it was just because I was an insensitive asshole."

"Tony." She finally took the last couple of steps forward, her hand fisting on the front of his flight suit, towering over him in her high heels. Her head dropped, just a bit, eyes shut tight. She whispered, now, words clearly only meant for Tony, but Steve couldn't help catching them anyway. "Is this your idea of a punishment?"

"Punishment?" Tony murmured, hand coming up to brush a strand of hair back from her face in an absent manner Steve wasn't sure he was even conscious of. "What do you mean?"

"You know damn well what I mean." She didn't lift her head. "Are you trying to hurt me because I left you? Is that what this is? Your little way of showing me just how little you care?"

"Pepper, honey, don't be ridiculous." The words that could have been sharp sounded almost like sweet nothings in Tony's soft tone. "You know me, right? The only one I would punish is myself." He laughed, but the sound wasn't happy, making Steve's heart clench in his chest. "Unless you've taken up international terrorism as a pastime, you hurting me means I've probably done something to deserve it and thus the one who should bear any punishment is the asshole who drove you to that."

"Tony." Pepper's word was a pained breath more than anything, and Steve found himself echoing the same emotions. "You aren't…"

"Darling, if I were self-destructive, I wouldn't be standing here now. I'd have taken the perfect opportunity for going out with a boom that the bomb today offered." Which was not exactly the most reassuring way of putting fears to rest. His hand, still lingering where he had pushed the strand of hair aside, touched her cheek, the soft touch gentle and almost regretful. "It was the best solution. The odds were I could come out of it alive, and even if I hadn't, well, I figured that was still a pretty good trade-off."

Steve heard another voice in his ears, his own words echoing through him, about heroes and sacrifice and how neither had anything to do with Tony, and he felt sick.

"You're not something to be traded, Tony. Not like some poker chip."

"Pretty sure my life's not any more valuable than anyone else's. Probably less so than a lot of people's. So if I can save a few thousand average lives at the cost of one pretty banged-up one, I'm going to go for it."

"That's not right." It took Steve a moment to realize he was the one who had spoken. Judging by the way the two startled apart, they had probably scarcely remembered he even was there. Steeling himself as two pairs of eyes now fixed on him, he cleared his throat. "I mean… I know I'm the one who spoke about sacrifice, and yeah, I still stand by that, but it's still not right that you think your life's somehow less valuable than anyone else's."

"Again, I'm not on some silly crusade to get myself killed because of my poor self-esteem," Tony said. "I assessed the situation, figured out the solution with the least damage to human life, and took it. If I really wanted myself dead, I wouldn't have shot off the moment I let go of the damn thing."

And those words made Steve's heart clench again, the idea of a team member dying in front of him again, of Tony falling down and not standing up again, or worse disappearing without a trace in the explosion, just like they had never recovered a single trace of Bucky. "You made your decision," he said, his voice quiet. "It was your decision to make, and I won't begrudge you it. I won't even say it was a bad decision; you did, after all, save the day once again. All I'm saying is that when you make decisions like that, you should at least be prepared to your friends being worried for you."

"Worried?" Tony blinked, then looked at Pepper. "You were worried for me?"

"Tony, if I had ever made the mistake of thinking you actually listen to me, you would have disabused me of that notion thoroughly right now." Pepper jabbed him in the chest, her nail tapping against the arc reactor. The tears were rolling down her cheeks now, but she didn't seem to notice. "Of course I was worried! That's why I ended us, because it's bad enough to worry about you as a friend, never mind a lover."

"I'm sorry." And Tony actually sounded sorry. "Sometimes there just aren't other options."

"I know that." She sniffled. "But sometimes there are. Just, try to keep that in mind, okay? Especially now that you're not out there alone." She glanced at Steve, then back at Tony. "You have a team, Tony. And I know that's still new and exciting and somewhat hard to grasp, but that means you don't always have to take the burden all alone."

"I know I have a team." Tony sounded somewhat indignant. "I asked Hulk to help me today. That should more than prove that I'm totally aware I have a team, and this whole conversation is just ridiculous." His tone softened again. "I'm never going to stop taking those risks, Pepper, and we both know that. Not as long as there's some good I can do. That's why I let you go rather than make promises I knew I couldn't keep."

"I know that." And somehow, Pepper managed a small smile. "If you did anything else, you wouldn't be the man I love. But even so, I reserve the right to be upset when you almost break my heart."

"See, this? This is why I keep telling you that you shouldn't watch the news footage live." Tony huffed. "Just wait an hour or two until after the battle, and you'll never have to deal with the worrying part. You can still watch it later and berate me for all my stupid stunts but without having to fret about the outcome."

"I know you too well for that, Mr. Stark." She finally let go of his flight suit and took a step back, dabbing at her eyes. "One day you're going to meet your end in an exceedingly embarrassing accident involving a toilet seat, an ice cube, and three cubic feet of rubber chickens."

"And all your worry will have been for nothing, imagine that." Tony smiled at her, apparently satisfied with her less teary look. "So, Pepper, love of my life though thou shan't ever be mine, want to join us for our post-battle feast? We'll have to wait for Bruce to get over his first nap and for Barton to crawl back out of the air vents, but after that, we're totally going to have a party. I'm thinking Thai this time. What do you think, Cap? Thai sound good? Hey, have you even had Thai food? Because if not, you're definitely missing out, and we're so totally doing that tonight."

And somehow, Steve thought, things would be all right in the end, because Tony was already healing.

The bruises, of course, would still take another moment.

*

The tower kitchen, Bruce had come to find, was all nice and quiet around three in the morning. Before that, he might still find Tony skulking around looking for another drop of coffee, while stretching much past that ran the risk of encountering Steve on an early breakfast. Not that he minded the company most of the time, a sleep-deprived Tony was even more entertaining than usual if he could manage to ignore his concern, and Steve was always polite now that he had gotten over the fear of Bruce killing everyone at the slightest provocation. However, sometimes it was just nice to have a moment of silence and peace that wasn't in the relative safety of his lab or locked away in his bedroom. Especially when he needed that precious moment to gather his thoughts.

This time, his trick failed him, though. As he arrived at the kitchen door, there were two forms in the semi-darkness, one hunched over the table and the other cradling a cup. He was about to turn about and leave, but the one holding a cup looked up, the movement sharp. Even in the shadows he recognized Natasha easily, the faintest hint of light somehow finding its way to her hair.

"Just come in," Natasha said, her voice soft but sure. "We don't bite. For now."

"I just didn't want to intrude." The lights in the kitchen were brightening, though, Jarvis reading the situation as expertly as always, and he found no choice but to walk into the room. "I was just hoping for a cup of tea, that's all."

"We were just talking." So what if he had heard nothing. "It's your kitchen, too."

"Right." The other form, Clint, lifted his head from where it had been resting on his arms, giving Bruce a grin that utterly failed to reassure him. "Wouldn't want to chase you out like that."

"Well, thank you." He busied himself with preparing the tea, knowing full well something else was going on here but not knowing how to approach the matter, or if he even should. Finally, he settled for, "I couldn't sleep."

There was no response from either of them. For now, he figured it was a good thing.

"Well, more like I did, but it wasn't too pleasant. They always come when I'm sleeping. Flashbacks. Nightmares." He shook his head. "Sometimes, it's just better to get up for a little while."

There were still no words, but he was sure he heard some minute movement from behind him, a small shuffle as Clint sat up straighter. That was probably good. And, well, they were certainly capable of stopping him if they didn't want to hear any more.

"There's two kinds of those, too." He calmly took out his favorite mug, making sure Tony hadn't soiled it with something unimaginable. "There's the ones that happened, of course. The gunfire, and the screams, and explosions. The world coming down around my ears, and all I can remember are some brief flashes. I'm always on the run in those dreams, from both them and from myself, and I always lose both races in the end."

"That's the difficult thing about running from yourself." It was Natasha's voice again, soft over the sound of the water kettle. "Every step you gain, so does the other side."

"Yeah, I noticed." He shook his head. "Some ask if I know what I do when the other guy takes over. I don't, not really, just flashes here and there when I let him out and nothing when he breaks out on his own. I do remember some things, though. Enough to know just how much destruction there has been. How many screams, how much pain, how little left standing. I don't have to know that to the last detail to know the enormity of it, and how it's never going to go away."

This time, they were all quiet for a moment. Finally, somewhat to his surprise, it was Clint who broke the silence. "And the other kind of dreams?"

"That's the ones that haven't happened," Bruce replied, and did not add the 'yet' because that was something he could not afford to think. "The ones where I lose myself completely and destroy all this, everything I matter. Where I come to myself in the ruins of the tower, cradling the bodies of my friends, and know that I can never put things back together. In those dreams there is never any choice, never any control, because the lack of control is what makes those dreams, because I fear nothing as much as doing that. As losing myself."

"How do you deal with that?" He only barely heard Clint's voice, now.

"Remind myself I haven't lost control. That I won't. That by every day that passes, I go further away from that point as I get to know the other guy better, as he gets to know me and my friends. And then," he turned just enough to give them a rueful smile, "I come to the kitchen at three in the morning and fix myself a cup of tea."

Again, there was a momentary silence. Then, Clint chuckled, a sound with little humor but at least not entirely empty. "Does chattering off at teammates fall under that plan, too?"

"That part is optional." The water was boiling at last, so he picked out the tea leaves and made to prepare his cup. "Feel free to try out my tea selection, by the way. You know, if you ever get thirsty."

"We'll keep that in mind." Natasha's voice was smooth and even, but he was sure he detected a hint of something almost soft underneath it. "Hopefully you'll get some sleep after this."

"Likewise." After that, none of them said a word until Bruce finished making his tea and padded out of the kitchen, the hot cup cradled between his hands.

He'd done what little he could.

*

It was really unfair, in Tony's not at all unbiased opinion, that a man couldn't even lock himself up in his own house without getting grief for it. Not that this stopped him from disappearing in his workshop for hours on end, but now he actually had to wander out of it every now and then unless he wanted someone to come in to "just check up on him" or drag him off for a spar or something. Why did he need to spar, anyway? He kept in shape otherwise, and his fighting skills were mainly thanks to his armor. Obviously, it was just all a ploy by Natasha to get closer to his absolutely gorgeous body. By beating it black and blue. So very devious of her.

So now he was out of his workshop, see everyone he wasn't being antisocial, and instead of the strong drink that he really needed he wandered into the shared kitchen for some coffee. He needed just a little push further, and hopefully caffeine would provide him with that.

Getting the big mug he obviously needed, hush everyone he had a demanding job and caffeine was his favorite legal drug by far, he inhaled deeply as he wandered out of the kitchen, then frowned at the thought of not being able to just hole up in his workshop until he was done. He was just about to make a breakthrough, too; just five hours and he'd be golden. Or fifteen. It was all a bit hazy, and those idiots just couldn't understand it.

"Well, don't you look cheerful."

Tony turned, and for some reason there was a Barton on his couch, long legs stretched all over it. Not that he could fault him, that couch was a really good place to crash on every now and then.

"Hawkass." He lifted his cup in a mock salute before taking a sip. "Taking a break from nesting?"

"Very funny, Stark." Barton snorted. "I'm not the one hoping to either hide from the world or drink my ass off or both simultaneously."

"Oh, my ass is very well attached. If that's a concern for you, you might want to have it looked at."

"That was weak even from you, Stark." Barton stretched his arms, then got to his feet in one swift motion. "What, did she steal your brain when she left you?"

"Nah. Need more caffeine, that's all." He took another sip. "I'll be appropriately snarky in just a moment, all for your entertainment."

"Can't wait to see that." Now he got what appeared to be a honestly curious gaze from the archer. "So. How you holding up?"

"Oh, you know. Getting my world back on track, piecing together my aching and shattered heart, all the usual. So far I've refrained from writing any forlorn songs about my endless loss and pain, but I'm sure some will follow before long."

"Hilarious." Well, obviously it was, since Barton's lips twitched. "And here I thought Tony Stark was above all that."

Tony snorted. "Like you'd know anything. You think a good date is a woman trying to work a rusty hunting knife between your ribs."

"Hey, if you knew what Natasha can do with a knife, you'd be begging for her to come after you." Barton leered at him, and Tony couldn't help but smirk back. "But then, I never thought you had a very good taste."

"I'll have you know I have excellent taste, thank you very much. Though someone like you should probably indeed be worried about other people's taste. I mean, as long as people have standards, you're never going to get a date." There was a smirk on his face that marked it as good-natured ribbing rather than an actual insult. At least, he hoped Barton would correctly interpret it as such. He'd have hated to take part in a less successful retelling of William Tell.

"Oh, fuck you, Stark. At least I've actually been married once."

"Wait, what?" Tony blinked. This was news to him. "You? Married? How?"

"You know, the usual way. First a really nice proposal, and then a little wedding and paperwork, and bam, you're married. I mean, I know you're not exactly one for commitment, but surely you're aware of at least some traditions beyond the mechanics of a one-night-stand?" Barton stretched again, then brushed past him to the kitchen. "So was there any coffee left?"

"Wait. You said have been. That mean you're not married anymore?" Well, obviously. He sincerely hoped he'd have known if Barton was married right now.

"Correctomundo. All single and available now, but nope, not interested. Goatees are so not my thing."

"So, what happened? You're divorced now?" Which it really wasn't his place to ask, reminded a little voice in his mind that almost sounded like the Captain, but hey, apparently Barton thought he had every right to question Tony's own relationship or the end thereof, so fuck him.

"Nah." Barton paused at the doorway to the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder with the most serious look Tony had ever seen in his eyes, and for a moment there was such pain and vulnerability in his expression that it made Tony's own woes seem frankly insignificant. "Widowed." Then he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Tony alone with his coffee.

It took a while for Tony to get his legs to work again, heading back to his workshop while sipping at his coffee. In a bizarre way that probably reflected just how messed up he was, he didn't feel quite as miserable and unfortunate anymore.

Maybe later he'd call Pepper to talk about the new prototype he had been working on.

*

If there was one good thing to be said about Stark, it was that he knew how to build a luxurious house.

Okay, so if she were entirely honest, there were quite a few good things to say about him, not that she would have ever voiced any of those under most imaginable circumstances. However, it was so much easier to say negative things about him, the rest just kind of got forgotten. This point, however, was very hard to forget, sliding through the large pool as she did.

A pool. Stark had had a full-size pool built up in his skyscraper just as a way for them to train. So far she hadn't even unearthed any secret mechanism to turn it into the world's largest and most expensive jacuzzi, either. Of course, there was always the possibility he just wanted to see her in a swimsuit, but even so, it would have been a pity to let the pool go to waste.

"Natasha?" Jarvis's voice lilted through the speakers hidden somewhere in the room. She had very quickly taught him to eschew any titles for her, though she could still hear the slightest hint of pause before her name every time. Trust Stark to make an AI that had Opinions on what instructions to follow and how. He still referred to her as Agent Romanoff if other people were around.

"Yes?" She stopped on her lap around the pool, turning upright and treading water to get her ears out of the water.

"Master Bruce has informed me that he is planning to prepare dinner, and the entire team is invited. What shall I tell him is your response?"

"What are the others saying?" Her question was almost automatic. Not because she wanted to avoid any of them in particular, but because she liked to know what kind of a situation she was walking into beforehand.

"Sir has failed to answer yet. I believe he is too busy with his work to have noticed my question. However, Captain Rogers has assured me he will make sure Sir attends. Agent Barton informed me he would wait for your decision."

"Right." She paused. Bruce was planning to cook, hmm? Clint liked cooking, or at least he had, on what few afternoons off he and Phil had managed to get together every now and then. "Do you think he would mind some help with the cooking?"

"He has not mentioned anything, but I would not imagine so."

"Excellent." She swam over to the edge and drew herself out of the water. "Tell Bruce I'm bringing him a kitchen slave to help out. Clint needs something to occupy his mind with before he gets any silly ideas."

"Very well." Jarvis paused for a moment. "Master Barton is currently at the shooting range. Should I inform him of your approach?"

"No, just keep me posted if he moves." Now to get dressed, hunt Clint down and then make him face an activity he found pleasant around Phil in a situation that had no connection to him. It would be a complete toss-up between a therapeutic pastime and a time bomb going off in her face.

Fifty-fifty. Hey, she'd gone into battle with worse odds before, and here she was, still. And it wasn't even completely even odds; the presence of Bruce was definitely going to have a calming effect. Hopefully it'd turn out to be what Clint needed at the moment, though she couldn't be sure until she actually tried. All this human emotion thing was just too needlessly complicated for her. Love was only for children and fools, and she was neither.

Of course, deep-set obsession about the protection and the well-being of the one remaining person she admitted to being fond of was an entirely different thing and thus allowed.

*

Pepper did not need to check the screen to know who was calling her. Only one person would dare call her personal phone at such an hour. Sighing, she reached out from beneath the covers, fumbling for her phone.

"Tony, go to bed," she grumbled as soon as she got the phone to her ear and answered.

"Why? I'm not tired." He certainly sounded far too chipper for the hour.

"Maybe not, but I am." She sighed. "And, unlike you, I have to be up in," she glanced at her bedside clock, "four hours."

"Aw, come on, Pep. Can't you spare a minute or two for me?"

"Sure I can. I'm sure I have some minutes free around five in the afternoon."

"But this is important!" There was a definite whining tone to his voice that he only ever got when he was both enthusiastic about something and overly hopped up on caffeine. A combination that would lead either to something truly ingenious or something that required bail money. Or both, if the world was feeling particularly ambivalent toward her.

"I sincerely doubt that, but fine." She sank down to the pillow, her eyes falling shut on her own accord. "I give you precisely ten words to convince me I shouldn't hang up on you."

"We did science that didn't blow up and it's awesome."

Okay, that was precisely ten words. "We? Who's we?" Should she worry about whom he had managed to get to join him in the middle of the night?

"Bruce and I. Neither of us was feeling like sleeping, so we both wandered into the lab, and, boom! Science happened!"

"I thought you just said nothing blew up."

"And nothing did! That was a metaphorical boom." Right. Of course. She was so not awake enough for that. "Anyway, we were trying to think of a nice new material to make Hulk-proof clothes out of, you know, so he wouldn't end up wandering around naked all the time. I mean, it's awesome and all but quite embarrassing for him, so we've been working on it on and off ever since he moved in. And then an assassin showed up."

"An assassin?" It probably told a lot about her that she didn't bolt out of the bed right away. Or, rather, it told a lot about Tony and what she knew about him.

"Exactly. Of course, Natasha wasn't there to assassinate anyone, she'd just checked in on Barton and he wasn't in bed so she went looking for him. And then she looked at our latest attempt and figured it might work as something else instead."

"Oh? And what's that something else?"

"Well, see, we were juggling a few ideas. Besides some super-stretchy fabrics that could stretch to Hulk-size and then shrink back, we've been looking for some kind of spray-on clothes, for emergency application after he turns back. Anyway, our latest attempt at that didn't work quite like we hoped it might; it only lasted a few hours after application, which in itself would be more than enough for him to get changed, but it also was a bit too rigid to really make comfy clothes. Not exactly something you'd like constricting any private areas, if you know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I do." And was trying very hard not to think about it, thanks.

"So, anyway, Natasha then pointed out it could be useful on the field. You know, instant temporary cast for anything sprained, and with the right manufacturing it'll be more or less sterile right out of the bottle, so it could even make emergency wound dressing. So, boom! Instant medicinal science!"

"That's nice." It actually did sound useful, amazingly enough. "Pass it on to the medical tech R&D sometime in the morning, I'm sure they can get the details down."

"I just thought I'd save some time and go directly to the CEO. You know me, all about efficiency."

"Sadly, the CEO is deep asleep at this time."

"No you're not. I can hear you talking to me, and I'm pretty sure I'm not caffeinated enough to hallucinate just yet."

"Just go play with your little friends, Tony." Pepper sighed. "And now that Natasha's helped you out, be a dear and help her find Barton, all right?"

"Oh, sure! Jarvis can do that in a minute! That's a great idea, thanks, Pep."

"And then get some sleep." Like she was about to do right now.

"I can't just go to bed now! There's science going on, Pepper. Science!"

"Good night, Tony." She didn't wait for his answer before disconnecting the call, setting the phone aside before crawling deeper under the covers.

Well. It was nice to know Tony was back to normal, at least. Except now, he had friends to share his hobbies with. And he still called her in the middle of the night because he just couldn't wait to share something.

It was good to know she hadn't ruined everything after all.

*

Something was poking at him.

For a moment, Clint almost jerked up as though from a nightmare, the feeling eerily similar to the shreds of dream that sometimes haunted him, of a sharp scepter only barely tapping against his chest. Then he realized that the poking was at his side, not over his heart, and considerably less magical or potentially lethal besides. Oh, he was sure the mechanical finger could do some damage if it had enough force behind it, but for now, he was relatively safe. Tony's bots, creepy though they could be at times, had yet to show any murderous tendencies.

Right. Tony's bots. Nothing to do with Loki.

He opened his eyes, blinking at the sunlight overhead. He'd dozed off, apparently, which was not all that unusual, considering how badly he had been sleeping lately. What was slightly more unusual was that he had apparently chosen the balcony as a location for his nap. He did like the location, high places always held a special appeal to him, but he rarely made a habit of falling asleep in such an open place. Anyone could come by while he was in a vulnerable state, as evidenced by the fact that there was a bot poking at his side.

Grumbling, he sat up, looking to his side. The bot was not one he recognized. Instead of the huge monstrosities Tony employed around his workshop, this one was small and mobile, with several spider-like legs and a small head attached to a slightly bigger body. Right now, it was poking at him with one of the spidery legs. Peering closer at it, Clint noticed a red hourglass painted to the black back.

"Black Widow?" He blinked. "Okay, if Stark's gone crazy and started turning people into bots, I'll just go ahead and run off screaming."

"Really, such faith you have in me." The drawling voice drew his eyes to the door inside, where Tony was leaning against the door frame. "Actually, I'm thinking of naming him Scarecrow. Or her, really, since Natasha did help with the design."

"She did?" Clint inched away almost without thinking. "Does it have secret death traps or something?"

"If it does, I'm not aware of them, and that'd be rather worrying considering I constructed her." Tony snorted. "We brainstormed her after our grand medical breakthrough. Someone came up with the idea of a medic bot that could carry bandages and other small medical things around during battles."

"And how does that translate into poking me?" Which the thing was still doing. It was really getting rather annoying.

"Well, we didn't get very far on the design aside from wanting it to be pretty mobile. So, Bruce thought it would be a good idea to let it practice moving around until we could get around to refining the concept. And from Natasha's reason for being in the lab I decided to give her the task of finding you, since you're always finding new places to sulk. As a bonus, all your hiding places up on high give her lots of training in using her limbs."

"That's stupid." It was only fair that Clint poked back at the bot. "I'm not some kind of a lost puppy."

"Of course you're not, but frankly I think it's for the best for all of us if Natasha has some way of locating you in a pinch." Tony shrugged. "That reminds me, I did have a reason for finding you besides giving Scarecrow here a test run."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Cap wants to try that video game you were playing yesterday." Tony apparently decided to have mercy on him at last, as he whistled and bent down to scoop up the bot as it scurried over to him on little spidery legs. "Except he has trouble figuring it out and needs help. Bruce is reluctant to try out tricky games because they frustrate him, and I refuse to read manuals on principle."

"So you want me to show him how to play." Clint stretched and got up to his feet. He supposed a distraction was a good idea when his mind was turning robotic pokes into megalomaniac alien gods. "I thought we were expressly forbidden from teaching Captain anything."

"Only things that aren't true, or that's what Bruce told me." Tony waited for him to catch up before turning to walk toward the living room. "I still think that's a ridiculous rule. Just think how much more of a wondrous and awe-inspiring world he would live in if he only knew things we told him."

"It's a beautiful thought," Clint admitted. "But alas, it is not to be. All we can tell him is boring true stuff like that there is still no proof of aliens and the sky is mostly blue and abstinence only will make you go blind."

"Oh, right, that's another thing." Tony was cradling the bot in his arms like it were a baby. "Pepper says we're not allowed to teach Cap anything about sex. Even if it's all true, and even if he asks. Any inquiries pertaining to such matters are supposed to be directed to Natasha, Bruce, or Pepper herself. Personally, I'm deeply insulted by this lack of confidence, while also deeply relieved at being off the hook."

"I've got to say, that would be one hellishly awkward conversation to have." It probably would even have made Phil blush, Clint thought before he could catch himself, then cursed inwardly as a cold wave of emotion crashed over him at the thought. Fortunately Tony didn't notice, but instead got on a rant about how completely unfair it was that he was not given full reign with educating Captain into the wonders of the twenty-first century, the way Tony would have preferred it to be.

Deep breaths, Clint. Deep breaths and distractions. There's a good boy, that's right, just push the pain away for now and focus on what's here.

He wasn't even sure if it was a good or bad thing that it was getting easier and easier to do just that.

*

The workshop, Steve noted, was more quiet than usual as he tapped in his code and walked in. Not actually silent, it never truly was, but the music that was usually blaring from the speakers at a deafening volume had faded into the background, quiet enough that it was reduced to little more than the beat of the bass vibrating in the back of his mind.

"Jarvis?" he asked, glancing around and not seeing Tony anywhere. "Why is the music so quiet?"

"Sir is asleep at the moment." He was surely imagining it, Jarvis was just a computer program after all, but he could have almost sworn it sounded relieved. "In such situations, I find it best to keep the music on but reduced to a more calming level, as cutting it off altogether may stir him from his rest."

"Asleep? In here?" Steve frowned. "Where is he?"

"There is a couch at the back of the workshop, behind the charging stations for the bots." Jarvis made a small tsking noise. "I believe Sir finds some amusement in the location."

"Right. Thanks." Steve walked through the workshop, careful not to touch anything. Tony would not forgive him if he let himself in only to destroy something while Tony wasn't there to supervise.

One of Tony's bots lifted what he assumed was its head from where it was resting in its charging station, but didn't otherwise react to him beyond a quiet beep. Steve nodded at it in greeting and walked on, indeed finding a small nook behind the charging stations. He'd never noticed it before, though then he'd never really ventured into the workshop further than necessary to get to Tony. There wasn't much space there, just enough for a rundown couch that looked like it had been very expensive before it had faced the force of nature that was Tony Stark.

Tony Stark himself was currently lying on the couch, stretched along it, head propped on an arm rest. He seemed to be more or less peacefully asleep, hair messy and a smear of motor oil on his cheek. His hands, equally stained from his work, were folded on his stomach, making him look like he had only nodded off for a second.

Steve found a small smile creeping onto his lips. It was good to see Tony actually getting the rest he needed. Steve didn't need Bruce to tell him that Tony was getting far too little actual sleep instead of just varying states of unconsciousness.

The light of the arc reactor caught his attention, casting a faint blue glow upon Tony's features. He was used to seeing it shining out from the repulsor on Iron Man's chest, or glowing through whatever shirt Tony happened to be wearing at any given time. He'd only seen it bare once or twice before, when Tony had found some occasion to wander around shirtless. Each time he'd found it fascinating, trying not to stare and usually failing, eyes drawn time and again to the flat disk resting in the middle of Tony's chest. For the life of his he couldn't figure out how Tony had attached it, how he had turned such a source of destruction into something so very beautiful.

The why of it had never once crossed his mind. Somehow it only made sense that Tony would take the clearest symbol of Iron Man and turn it into a part of himself, bearing it like a trophy in his very core.

The reactor was fully visible now, a hole torn into Tony's tank top just wide enough to allow the glowing circle to show. Mesmerized by the sight, Steve reached his hand, ever so careful, to touch it.

He was so startled by the sudden grasp on his wrist that even his reflexes didn't help him avoid it. The next second Tony had rolled around and off the couch, crouching on the floor with a wild look in his eyes, still holding Steve's hand in a tight grip.

"…Cap?" Tony blinked, sleep apparently slowly leaving his mind. "What the fuck?"

"Sorry." Steve winced. He knew that whatever had just happened, it wasn't good and he was probably to blame. "I, ah. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Wake me? Hell, I nearly attacked you!" He paused, then. "Not that it would have done any good, I suppose. Still, Jesus, what the fuck were you doing?"

"I'm sorry." As Tony finally let go of his hand, Steve lifted his hands, showing that he meant no harm. "No offense meant, I swear. I mean, I know I should have asked before touching, I just didn't think…"

"Didn't think what?" Tony staggered back to the couch, slumping down and running a hand through his hair. The hand, Steve noticed with a pang of guilt, was shaking ever so slightly. "That maybe it might be a just slightly bad idea to wake the guy with PTSD by poking at his most vulnerable part?"

PTSD? Ah, right, shell shock. The same thing the SHIELD psych people insisted he probably had from the plane crash, said that it was the reason he got the shivers when he even thought of flying a plane, why he sometimes ached all over when it was a bit cold. But it didn't make sense, still, not here, not like this. "Most vulnerable part? But — it's just a light, right? To look like the Iron Man suit."

For a moment, Tony stared at him like he was stupid, and truth be told Steve did feel a little uncertain all of a sudden. Then Tony shook his head, slowly. "Right. Sure. You wouldn't know."

"Wouldn't know what?" Steve frowned. This situation had taken a wrong turn somewhere.

"It's not just a pretty light." Tony's lips twitched into a somewhat rueful smile. "The arc reactor came before the suit, Cap. It's keeping me alive, has been ever since that stupid cave in Afghanistan."

Suddenly Steve felt cold in a whole different manner, not the kind that made him shiver and his body ache in memory of a death barely avoided, but rather the slow, creeping cold of pure terror. "You — keeping you alive?"

"Right." Tony ran a hand through his hair again, sighing. "When they kidnapped me, I — there was a bomb. One of my own design, ironically enough. They had a doctor captive as well, he got most of the shrapnel out, but there was a lot left in there, too. So, the good doctor decided it was for the best to stick a fucking electromagnet in me. At the time it was powered by a car battery, which would have run out in about a week or so. During that week, I designed the first version of the arc reactor, which kept me alive for long enough that I could build the first suit."

"And the shrapnel… it's still in there?"

"Haven't managed to get it out, so, yeah." Tony shrugged. "It's all sitting pretty close to my heart. Sure, there's been a few shocks to the system since then, but the current estimate is that if the reactor's taken out, I've got maybe ten minutes before the pieces start shredding my heart apart. And since it's sitting all nice and snug near there, too, the shock of forceful removal has put me into cardiac arrest a couple of times before."

"Forceful removal?" Steve's eyes widened. "You mean someone has…"

"Well, the first time wasn't on purpose. Pepper was honestly trying to help me with the wiring, and that got sorted out pretty soon." Tony looked down at the reactor, then up at Steve. "The second time, the closest thing I had to a father figure paralyzed me, ripped it out of my chest knowing full well what that would cause, and left me dying with a gaping hole in my chest."

"Christ." Steve swallowed. "I — I'm so sorry, Tony. If I'd known, I never would have even thought of —"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You're such a goody two shoes, I know you'd never try to kill me on purpose. Just, yeah. Don't take well to people touching it without permission."

Steve took a moment to process everything. Finally, something struck him. "You said he left a hole behind. That… do you mean it's not just a disk? On the surface, that is?"

"Fuck, you really don't know anything." Tony managed something similar to a laugh, then hauled himself up to his feet. "Hey. Come on. I'll show you something."

Steve blinked, not sure what to expect, but then followed Tony into the main lab. Tony headed right toward a desk some way away from the other work benches.

"Suppose it's for the best that I show you this, anyway," Tony mused as he reached the desk. "I mean, if the reactor becomes damaged in battle, I probably won't be in any condition to get a spare one myself. For one thing, the suit won't function."

Steve was trying very hard not to think of such a scenario, thanks. "You mean you have reserves of those?"

"Of course. I'd be an idiot not to. The only reason I survived the thing with Obie was because Pepper had made me save the old model and I managed to drag myself to the workshop when the paralysis wore off." Tony shrugged, drawing open a desk drawer. "This, my dear Captain, is the coolest energy bank on this planet, hands down."

Steve stared as the drawer revealed several round disks just like the one on Tony's chest, half a dozen or so, each with its own blue glow. What shocked him even more, though, was the fact that each was roughly the size of a woman's fist. Definitely not flat disks, then.

"I've been making them whenever I have the time and resources to make another vibranium core," Tony explained, picking one of the reactors up and turning it over in his hand. "Hey, I'll show you how to change it, in case there's an emergency. I mean, even if I'm not conscious, it's pretty easy to tell if the reactor isn't doing its job, what with the light and all."

"You mean, you're going to take it out?" Steve couldn't help the startled tone in his voice. "But won't that make the shrapnel —"

"Do precisely nothing. Ten minutes, Cap, I already told you. That's ample time to switch a reactor for another, and if one follows the right procedures, even my picky heart won't notice anything amiss. So, pay attention now, I'm only showing you this once."

Steve really rather wouldn't have, would have rather done just about anything else, but he knew Tony was right, knew that situations sometimes came up that left no time for hesitation. He thus watched as Tony released the lock on the reactor and told him how to do it, watched him pull out the current reactor, indeed leaving behind a hole, a metal socket right into Tony's body. He watched Tony taking the reactor he had picked up earlier, made note of how to insert it right, how to make sure it connected to the magnet and how to lock it in place once again. He watched every moment of it, determined to remember, hoping against hope he would never have to use such knowledge.

"Thank you," he finally said quietly as Tony set the old reactor into the drawer with its sisters, closing it. "For trusting me enough."

"Hey, I trust you with my life on the field, might as well trust you with this. Besides, we both know that if you wanted me dead, bashing my head in with your fist would be much more effective and quick than messing with the arc reactor." He paused then, giving Steve a serious look. "Though if you ever, ever touch my reactor again while I'm not conscious and it's not a matter of life and death, you will regret it."

Steve managed to raise his eyebrows, though in the inside he was shivering. "Is that a threat?"

"No, just stating a fact." Tony shook his head. "You would regret it, all by yourself, because you're such a damn good man you wouldn't want to hurt even an asshole like me. Frankly, I doubt there's anything I could do to you that'd be harsher a punishment than that."

And really, he shouldn't have been thinking of how well Tony seemed to know him.

*

They were still not telling him anything.

Granted, he did not spend much time awake to question them, but he was still pretty sure they could have told him more than they did. As it was, all he got was hushes and maybe-laters and never any actual information. He had been told that the invasion had been thwarted and the Avengers did their job, but that was about the extent of it. He rather suspected the nurses and doctors were under some orders to stay silent. It wasn't exactly shocking, really, not coming from Fury.

His ring was gone. That was the first thing he checked when he was awake enough to comprehend such things and well enough to move his hands without being in too much pain. The chain from around his neck was gone, along with the ring on it. Nobody could tell him what had happened to him; even the nurse who claimed to have been with him ever since he came out of the first operation said he'd had no personal effects when he arrived. He suspected this meant that Fury had taken it, though why it hadn't been returned mystified him.

At least it hadn't been returned along with its partner. That, he supposed, was something of a relief.

Even then, he was growing frustrated at the lack of information. Under most circumstances he would have been able to find out something at least, but the nurses were extremely well-trained even for Shield, as he supposed was appropriate for the extra secret facility he appeared to be in. Between the lack of reaction at any of his questions and the pain that still sometimes made his thoughts hazy he couldn't get much more data than the official party line. They were even careful not to let anything lying around that he could use to get information. Of course, all this made it rather obvious there was something out there Fury wanted to keep from him, but without any additional information, he could only guess at it.

Perhaps Clint was still at large, waging a war against Shield. Perhaps he was badly injured, like Phil himself, or had been imprisoned for the crimes Loki had made him commit. Perhaps he was just dead, so very simply, or had disappeared without a trace. Those were his main guesses; anything not related to Clint would have been either minor enough that Fury would not have bothered to go to such lengths to conceal it from him, or so major that he would have been brought up to speed by now. The only possible reason he could think of for Fury to go to such lengths was some misguided attempt at protecting him. This was, of course, foolish. He had known the risk of never seeing his husband again from the moment he'd first been lost to Loki, never mind when he had faced the god himself.

Besides, Clint had not been to see him. That alone told him that something was amiss, he just didn't know what.

For now, though, there wasn't anything he could do. He was still too weak to even get out of bed for long periods; he'd been informed it was a miracle he was even alive, and he was going to take the expert opinion on that. Before he could find out any additional information he would have to focus on getting better, getting stronger, getting well enough to walk out of here and find out what had happened to his husband.

He refused to mourn until he actually knew something. Crying now would not save him any tears later.

*

It had been a while since he had been out.

It had nothing to do with all the nagging from everyone, of course, or even the threats of getting carried home by Natasha if he worried the good captain again. Tony Stark was not that easily influenced. However, it was just easier in the long run to play along, and he got more done if he wasn't drunk off his ass every night, anyway. Besides, now that he could again talk with Pepper without feeling like a knife had been thrust in his gut, he was less inclined to try and chase such feelings away with a strong drink.

However, he was still Tony Stark, because that was not exactly likely to change any time soon. Which meant that in the end, he did head to a bar again, though only after making sure someone knew where he was so they wouldn't worry or do anything stupid. He really had been ruined by all these heroes in close proximity, there was no denying that. At least he'd managed to slip out without anyone offering to accompany him to keep him out of trouble, not that they'd have ever said the last bit aloud.

It felt like forever since he'd last walked into one of his favorite clubs, though he suspected it had been something more along the lines of a few weeks. It wasn't the one Natasha had carried him out of, not that he thought picking a different one would slow them down one bit if they wanted to find him, but rather one that he had frequented at the beginning of his latest bar-hopping spree. It was still exactly the same, from what little he bothered to remember, full of noise and warmth and people who had no personal stake at his well-being but could be convinced to pretend for just one night. All in all, quite the nice counterpoint to the almost disturbingly caring and social place his poor tower had been turning into lately.

Around his second drink, someone tapped his shoulder. Turning around, he saw a vaguely familiar-looking woman. He'd met her before, that much he knew, but the exact details escaped him right now. "Hi."

"Hi, Tony." She smiled, and there was something off about the smile that he couldn't quite place. "Remember me?"

"Of course I do." To some extent. "Meghan, right?"

"Mary, actually." The smile was still the same. Yeah, definitely something off. "I've been looking for you."

"Whatever it is, I didn't do it." His immediate reaction was only half joking. "Any special reason that won't get me in trouble?"

"Depends." She tossed him a folded piece of paper, one he caught without even thinking. There was something written on top of it. "You might want to consider that." Then, without waiting for a response, she disappeared into the crowd.

Tony almost threw the paper away as soon as she was out of sight. He probably would have, had the fold not opened up a bit, revealing the corner of a photograph printed on the page. That certainly piqued curiosity, wondering if it was intended for him or just the closest bit of paper she'd had at hand.

Tony unfolded the paper, and at the first glance his blood froze in his veins. Quickly, he flipped it over, finding only the words "call me, Tony" scrawled over a phone number. Probably intended for him, then. Turning the paper back over, he stared at the picture on the other side.

It didn't have eyes, of course, but he could have still sworn the positive pregnancy test stared back.

Well. Time to dig his phone out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update may not be up in two weeks, as most of the next fortnight has been reserved for various family obligations, many of which involve little or no computer time. We'll see how all this works out.


	4. Life and Death and Pretty Pretty Princesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony deals with his life-changing news like an adult, not involving anyone else, which obviously makes everyone around him suspicious. Clint appreciates company, especially people who tolerate his questionable taste in TV, and introduces Steve to the wonders of Disney archers. Pepper worries that Tony is up to something big, Bruce is simply worried, and Natasha has her own suspicions about Steve. After Phil manages to get word out, however, things start moving.

"So." Tony took a bite out of his cheeseburger, eyeing the woman — Mary? He was pretty sure it was Mary, or maybe Molly — over the table. It wasn't a particularly fancy place, but at this time of the night it was sparsely populated, giving them the use of a corner table with no eavesdroppers or awkward photos about to be rushed online. That, and he liked the food. "I hope you realize I'm going to require some actual proof."

"Of course." She didn't seem very fazed. "I would imagine I'm not the first one to make such a claim to you."

Tony snorted. "Not by far." He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "You might want to know that none of the previous claims have held up. I'm pretty conscientious about contraception. I have to be, or I'd have more bastards than years of age." Or he'd have been dead of diseases long since.

"Of course." Her lips twitched. "I'm quite certain, though. You are the only one I slept with anywhere near the likely time of conception. But of course, you'd be stupid to take my word for it. I presume a DNA test would suffice?"

"Performed by at least two independent labs." Tony nodded. "So, let's assume the test confirms I am the father. What's your angle?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Angle?"

"Oh, don't play stupid with me. I'm so much better at it than you could ever hope to be." He took a swig of his coke. It was not exactly his drink of choice, but it had caffeine in it, and that helped him forgive a lot. Also, he supposed this discussion was the best to be had while at least mostly sober. "If you were only in it for money, you would have gone to the tabloids. Hell, quite a few women have made a nice dime out of their claims that way, even some I've never touched in my life. Even assuming you aren't one for such questionable fame, there are other ways to get in contact with me. If you'd contacted my PR staff, rest assured someone would have tried to investigate the veracity of your claims without letting it get out to the general public. Instead, you decided to try and meet me alone, face to face, with no guarantee of even finding me." He slid his shades down for a moment to give her a sharp look over them. "I want to know why."

"Contacting your staff was going to be my next step if I didn't manage to track you down soon." She met his gaze steadily. Well, it was at least clear why he had chosen her for company out of all the women in the bar on some drunken night. "You're right, I'm not interested in publicity. I sought you out personally because I want to offer you a deal."

"A deal, hmm." His lips curled a bit. "That's good. I like deals. I'm good at deals. So, the ball's in your court, now. Go on, make me an offer."

"I'd rather start with my terms." Ah, a business-minded woman. How very refreshing. "I want financial stability for the rest of my life. A suitable place to live, and a steady income to support myself and my child. For you, that's pocket change."

"Indeed." He nodded. "A demand is not a deal, though. What do you offer me in return?"

"Secrecy." The answer came immediately without hesitation. She had to have it all planned out. "You give me what I want, and nobody knows about your connection to the child. Not the tabloids, not the greedy lawyers, not the super powered criminals with something to prove."

"So you keep your lips sealed as long as money keeps rolling in." Frankly, it was a more sensible plan than those who aimed for a big sum up front. Even those who did manage to make a pretty dime from the tabloids and talk shows tended to blow through it in no time at all; they just had no idea how to deal with that kind of money before it was all gone. "And if at some point you decide you'd rather go for the headlines and the tell-all book?"

"I'm sure your lawyers can draft some form of a conditional non-disclosure agreement. I speak without permission or a breach of contract on your part, I'm up to my ears in law suits."

"You have actually thought this through, huh." He'd finished his burger and moved onto his fries. She was yet to touch her milkshake, he noticed.

"I didn't just decide to keep it on a whim, thanks." She looked at him seriously. "I want to have this child and raise it without any interference from anyone. You make sure I have the financial freedom to focus on my child, I make sure nobody uses the child against you, myself included."

"I'll have the contract prepared. If the test comes back positive, it'll be ready for us to sign."

"You're being surprisingly agreeable."

Tony shrugged. "No child of mine is going to be wanting as long as I have a say in it. And just so you know, I expect my say in that to extend far beyond the reach of 'as long as I live'." He looked at her. "French fry?"

She blinked, then chuckled and took it from him, and hey, if he absolutely had to have a bastard child hidden away somewhere, he supposed it could just as well be raised by this woman.

*

To be fair, Steve was not exactly surprised to find Tony returning in the wee hours of the morning. That was about what he had expected from previous experience; though Tony's nights out had become much less frequent, there was no reason to expect him to handle them differently than before. What he was surprised by, though, was that Tony was both alone and almost entirely sober.

"Did something happen?"

Tony blinked, appearing surprised to find Steve sitting in the living room. "Cap. Isn't it way past the bedtime for wholesome good men such as yourself?"

"I couldn't sleep." Hadn't been too eager to try after the dream he'd had. "I thought I'd come here to see if anyone else was up, but apparently the others are asleep, so I thought I'd just watch some TV." He gestured at the huge screen. "Jarvis has been bringing me up to date on everything."

"I can see that." Tony leaned against the back of the couch, looking at the screen, where Rapunzel was brandishing a frying pan in a rather threatening manner. "Disney princesses? Really, Cap?"

"Just because it's suitable for children doesn't mean I can't watch it." Steve shrugged. "I figured this one wouldn't offend anyone if they wandered in without warning." He knew the last thing he'd want to see after a nightmare was something dark and gritty and realistic.

"Eh. Makes sense that you'd like the princess with artistic tendencies."

Steve couldn't help but chuckle. "Meaning you've seen it, then?"

"Hell yes I have. Few things make for better watching than kids' movies when my brain is empty, or when I want it to be. Plenty of action that doesn't leave anyone undeserving dead, pretty things to look at, catchy tunes to sing to if I'm drunk enough, and there's always some kind of a moral I can happily go ahead and ignore for the rest of my days."

"I'm really not sure your attitude is the right one, here."

"So sue me. I missed all this crap when I was a kid, I get to enjoy it now." Tony shrugged. "Have Jarvis line up Brave next. No pretty paintings there, but I think the princess will be just your style."

"Actually I've already watched that. Clint put it on last week, right after the Robin Hood with all the animals." And, yes, he had quite liked the princess, too.

"Figures. It's really unfair, you know, that he has so many stories he can go all fanboy over. There should be more inspirational tales about people with awesome technological battle suits."

"Oh, I'm sure there are some." Steve paused. "You know you still haven't answered the question, right?"

"Oh, I'm well aware. I was kind of hoping you'd have forgotten that, though." Tony sounded almost cheerful. Steve wasn't sure if he should have been amused or exasperated.

"Well, I didn't."

"So I'm noticing." Which was all Tony said. After a moment of waiting for him to continue, Steve sighed.

"So. Did something happen?"

"Sure. Something always happens." Tony shrugged. "Something you should be concerned about? Don't think so. I promise I didn't do or encourage anyone else to do anything illegal, nor am I going to end up in the headlines tomorrow unless it's a particularly slow news day. I just had a chat with someone I met earlier over some fast food."

"I thought you were going to a bar." At least that was what Jarvis had told him.

"So I was, then I ran into someone while I was still almost sober. Things change. Don't worry your pretty blond head about it, though. It's nothing that would reach your ears."

"You do realize that isn't exactly reassuring, right?" He sighed. Tony truly had being difficult down to an art form.

"It totally should be. Whenever I do something bad, the media takes great pleasure in plastering it all over the headlines. Trust me, if I do something you truly disapprove of, you'll know it. Well, unless you're allergic to the internet, TV, and the radio. And newspapers. Newspapers still exist, right? Outside the internet, I mean?"

"Yes, Tony, newspapers still exist." Even though even he had gotten quite used to reading them from a tablet, somewhat to his embarrassment. It was just much less hassle not to have to handle all the pages of a broadsheet while he was trying to eat breakfast.

"Brilliant! So if I ever do something bad, you'll know it. You know, in case I don't call for someone to post bail on me. Now don't look at me like that, that hasn't happened in ages."

"I wasn't looking at you like anything." Okay, so maybe he had. "Want to watch the rest of the movie with me?"

"Nah. I'm not drunk enough to sing along, and if we ever watch it together, I want you to be able to fully appreciate my heart-wrenching rendition of I Have a Dream.'" Tony stretched. "I think I'll go to bed. It's going to be a novelty not waking up with a headache."

"Sleep well, then." Though he still was absolutely certain something was going on with Tony.

"I'll certainly try." Tony stepped out of his field of vision, and Steve turned his focus back on the movie, which Jarvis had thoughtfully paused as they started talking.

"See that you do. I've heard how you get on too little sleep."

"Yes, Mom." Now, there was no need to get so sarcastic. "Oh, and Cap?" When he turned to look, Tony tilted his head a bit. "I hope that when you go back to bed, you have more pleasant dreams."

Steve blinked. "How did you…" He was certain he hadn't said anything about nightmares.

Tony inclined his head. "The room's warmer than usual," he noted. "Not by much, but enough that I noticed. Jarvis usually does the same for me after I've been dreaming about the cave. I'd imagine nightmares about crashing into freezing water wouldn't leave you feeling too hot, either."

"Right." Well. He'd known Tony could be observant, and he'd definitely known the genius never stopped thinking, even when — or perhaps especially when — he was running his mouth. However, he hadn't expected Tony to notice that and connect it to both his own experiences and what he knew of Steve's past, certainly not at this hour. "I, ah."

"Nah, no explanations. If I tried to track every instance of PTSD in this place, I'd hardly have time for my own freak-outs." Tony waved a hand dismissively. "Hey, I know you don't drink, but hot chocolate is good for feeling warmer."

"Right." Steve paused. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Tony yawned, then, a loud sound that Steve suspected was exaggerated, though to what end, he wasn't sure. "You have fun with your hairy princess. And no bawling too loud!" And, with that, Tony headed out of the room.

Steve waited until he was out of earshot before speaking. "Is this a good or a bad sign, Jarvis?"

"I wish I could tell you, Captain," Jarvis replied. "I truly wish I could tell you."

*

The bed was empty as he reached out a hand to his side, the cool sheets startling him awake.

It could have been worse, really, Clint thought as he blinked up at the ceiling, eyes getting used to the dim light of the room. At least he'd never shared this bed with Phil, couldn't imagine smelling him on the pillow if only he concentrated hard enough. In a way that made it even harder, yes, not even having that little bit of a memory to cling to, but he knew that wasn't exactly healthy. And for all that he'd have liked to screw healthy recovery and cling to his memories for good, Natasha had been very clear in informing him that would not be acceptable.

Natasha wasn't here, this time. A quick look around the room showed no sign that she had been there at any point of the night. This didn't exactly surprise him; she'd been keeping him company less frequently now that the nightmares weren't plaguing him every moment, anymore. It was kind of a relief, knowing he wasn't cutting into her much-needed rest so much anymore, though he was well aware that if he'd had any trouble sleeping, she would have been at his side as soon as Jarvis got the words out. And no, he had absolutely no doubt that she had instructed Jarvis to do just that. Natasha could be scary when she got protective.

"Jarvis?" he asked as he sat up, stretching himself. "What time is it?"

"It is twenty-three past four in the morning, Agent Barton," the calm voice replied. Clint silently congratulated himself for already being used to such things. "You have slept for almost five hours."

"Hey, wow, that's got to be some kind of a record." And no nightmares, either, at least not ones he could remember.

"Indeed. This would be the longest period of uninterrupted sleep I have on file since your arrival at the tower. You also showed no particular signs of restlessness during your sleep."

"Awesome." He could remember some lingering shreds of his dreams, knew he had dreamed of Phil, just like he did every night. However, this time it hadn't been nightmares, not the images of pain and blood and betrayal that had plagued him every night in the beginning. This time, he'd been wrapped up in the good things, the lazy afternoons together, Phil's warm hand on his chest as they kissed, falling asleep with Phil in his arms. Of course, that had woken him up in the end, not being able to feel Phil where his dreams had claimed he should have been, but it was still a much better wake-up call than seeing Phil die in front of him, at his hand, all over again. Anything at all was better than that.

"Do you plan to go back to sleep?" Jarvis's calm voice cut through his thoughts.

"Nah, don't think so." As pleasant as the dreams had been, he wasn't quite ready to face that same disappointment all over again. It was bad enough it was probably the best he could hope for tomorrow night.

"Very well." The lights brightened slowly, from the almost-darkness he slept in to a soft morning glow. "Are you hoping for company, or planning to spend some time alone?"

"Hadn't thought quite that far." He stood up from the bed, stretching. "Anyone awake?" He wasn't about to drag anyone out of bed just to keep him company, but maybe it might not be such a bad idea to wander about if someone was up already.

"It appears Captain Rogers has just woken up himself." Jarvis turned on the lights in the bathroom before he even started heading that way, the insufferable know-it-all that he was. "If he follows his usual morning routine, he should be preparing breakfast around the time you are done with your shower."

"Guess I'll head to kitchen once I'm dressed, then." Proper breakfast really sounded good, especially when cooked by Steve. His appetite had been slow to return, and still tended to be somewhat fickle in the mornings, but Steve's bacon and eggs never failed to make him hungry, and he was always more than happy to share. Obviously his tendency to make sure everyone was well-fed did not stop at Stark.

"Very well, Agent Barton. I shall let Captain Rogers know that he may expect company soon." Jarvis paused. "Sir is likely to wake up in a couple of hours, and does not have anything scheduled until noon. Might I suggest a sparring session with him later? He has been somewhat lax in his training lately."

Clint couldn't help but chuckle. Of course even the computer would be getting on Tony's case about slacking off. "Sure, why not? It's been a while since I sparred with anyone but Natasha. Not that it's not great with her, but I do like actually winning sometimes." Okay, so he did sometimes win against Natasha, too, but it wasn't quite as frequent as his manly pride would have liked. She was definitely leading in their tally by quite a bit.

"Quite." He could have sworn there was a touch of amusement in Jarvis's voice. "Also, Doctor Banner is planning on preparing dinner for everyone tonight. I have already added that to Sir's schedule, but I would appreciate it if you could also remind him." Which was simultaneously Jarvis's not-so-subtle way of making sure Clint remembered that, too.

"You can be quite the mother hen sometimes, you know." Shedding his clothes, Clint stepped into the luxuriously big shower, turning it on. The water was warm right away, raining down on him with delicious pressure.

"Why, I would never, Agent Barton." The careful monotone was more of an answer than he could have even hoped for. "I am merely organizing everyone's schedules in a cohesive manner."

"I bet you like that, though." Despite the still lingering melancholy of waking up to find Phil gone, Clint found his lips turning into a faint smile under the spray of water. "Fitting Tony's schedule in with everyone else, that is."

"It is not entirely unpleasant to observe that Sir is not alone anymore." Yeah, definitely programmed by Tony. "Especially since involving others makes it much easier to care for his well-being."

"Yeah, well, you can pretty much count on us to act as your hands whenever he needs to be physically dragged somewhere." And, he quite suspected, whenever any of the others needed some interference. "Someone's got to remind him that however much of an asshole he is, people are still going to care about him, whether he wants it or not." Not that he was about to tell Tony that any time soon. The bastard would just get a big ego.

"It is quite good for everyone to remember that every now and then, yes." Jarvis's voice took on a meaningful tone, as much as that was possible for a computer. At least it was enough to give Clint pause.

"Is that supposed to be some kind of a hint?"

"I would never do such a thing." Except he just had.

"It doesn't really matter much if they care about me or not." Clint shrugged. "I'm only living here because my home died five months ago." Right along with his heart.

"If you'd like to think that, Agent Barton." Wow, getting catty with him, now? "Captain Rogers would like you to know that breakfast will be omelets today, if that is all right with you."

"That sounds just great." Okay, yeah, definitely feeding everyone.

It was weird, thinking of such a thing. He'd never really had anyone care for him, not since he'd been a little kid. Not until Phil, anyway, and Natasha had been doing it in her own way, but that was it. And now he suddenly had several people willing to feed him and spar with him and watch stupid kiddie movies with him, not expecting anything in return.

It wasn't quite the same as having Phil, nothing could be, but knowing he could walk out into the kitchen and count on finding someone there to chase away the lingering dreams did make waking up alone a little bit easier.

Just a little bit easier every day.

*

There were flowers on her desk, for the fourth time in the last month. Which meant Tony was definitely up to something.

Oh, of course Pepper did not have any proof of that aside from her suspicion, but then, she didn't really need any. She just knew there was something going on, because this was Tony, and Tony could never truly fool her. Not after all the years she'd known her. The only times Tony ever bought her something nice were when he needed her forgiveness, and if she hadn't hard about anything just yet, it just meant he knew he was going to upset her eventually. And that usually meant that whatever was going on was big.

At one point, she would have resolved this by calling Tony directly and demanding an explanation, however long it took to pry one out of him. Or, alternatively, called Jarvis, though the success rate of that varied; if Jarvis thought the consequences of Tony's latest scheme would likely be worse than facing her wrath, he would often squeal, but otherwise he stayed utterly silent, his loyalty unwavering. And, well, it was good to know Tony did have someone who had his back no matter what, but it was simply no help when she was trying to keep him from doing anything infinitely stupid. However, by now, she had other options available to her.

For a moment she fiddled with her phone, contemplating calling Natasha. They were on good enough terms that she was sure Natasha would cooperate with her on the matter, particularly as it was in her best interest to keep Tony from doing anything too idiotic, too. However, the thought of that made her feel slightly guilty. She knew well enough how hard it was to be Tony's keeper, and unlike her, Natasha had certainly not signed up for the job, not after her undercover operation had been over, anyway. If Natasha wanted to help, that would be fine, but calling her at the first suspicion would set a precedent Pepper was not quite comfortable with.

Of course, there was another option available as well. And she just so happened to have a couple of hours free, as well. It was high time she paid the Avengers a visit that didn't coincide with anyone getting hurt, anyway.

Well, hopefully nobody was going to get hurt. But then, if Tony had been working on whatever it was he was feeling guilty about for a month already, it wouldn't hopefully come to a head today of all days.

Jarvis sounded more than happy to welcome her to the Tower, quickly bringing the elevator up to the main floor of the Avengers' quarters. As soon as she stepped out of the elevator she heard voices from the living room. Heading toward the sound with brisk steps, she came to a halt at the doorway.

The living room had been taken over by three very deadly people, as it appeared. Natasha was lounging in an armchair, looking more relaxed than Pepper had ever seen her, idly watching TV. Steve and Clint were occupying the couch, two sets of legs stretched out to cover the huge expanse between them. Clint was tossing popcorn at Steve's head, not taking his eyes off the screen, while Steve caught them one by one, equally without looking. Though none made any movement toward her, she somehow got the feeling they were all too aware of her presence.

"Toddlers and Tiaras?" She walked further into the room now that she had announced her presence. "You might not want to watch that while Tony's around. It makes him twitchy, not that he'd admit it."

"Well, can't blame him." Clint tossed a piece of popcorn at the screen, now. "I'd have nightmares from seeing that amount of make-up on anyone, never mind a kid."

"It's not quite that, though, is it?" Natasha gave Pepper a lazy gaze, though there was a sharp edge to it.

"Not quite." Pepper walked up to lean against the back of the couch, returning the small smile and nod Steve gave him. "Let's just say that he's not quite fond of seeing overly demanding parents put pressure on little kids and teaching them that nothing but the best is acceptable, and even then it's just a step toward the bigger crown."

"Yeah, that sounds like it'd be a problem." Steve frowned, then. "Is something the matter?"

"Should there be?" Maybe he knew what Tony was doing?

"Not that I know of, but you don't often visit." Steve blushed, as though afraid he'd said too much. "Ah. Not to say you couldn't, of course, it's just…"

"I know what you mean. And I certainly hope nothing's going on, but seeing how Tony keeps sending me flowers, I'm not too hopeful."

"Oh?" Clint raised his eyebrows. "A man of preemptive apologies?"

"Sometimes. The problem's more that he never sends me anything unless he's done something bad or about to do something. Even on special occasions he just gives me money to buy something for myself."

"Sounds quite like him." Natasha snorted. "Nothing we're aware of, at least. Well, aside from him being his usual self, but I doubt you mean that."

"Well, that does usually equal up to no good, but rarely on such a level he finds it necessary to send me flowers." She glanced around. "Where is he, anyway?"

"I think he's in the workshop," Steve volunteered. "He spends half his time there now that he's not getting drunk all the time." And she was not going to feel guilty about that, thanks.

"Do you know what he's working on in there?" Because roughly ninety percent of Tony's absolutely worst ideas involved the workshop in some way or manner.

"I'm afraid not." Steve shook his head, looking sincerely apologetic. She resisted the urge to pat him on the head. "I don't really understand much of what he does. Bruce would probably know something, he's often down there with him, but he's meditating right now."

"He might just be feeling guilty." Pepper glanced at Clint, who met her gaze with serious eyes. "Over the breakup, I mean, and his reaction to it. That, or he's just making an effort to treat you better now."

Now it was Pepper's turn to frown. "…I hope he doesn't think he can win me over again." Because Tony's treatment of her had never been a factor, not like that.

"I think he's pretty much accepted the reality. Doesn't mean he can't realize he can be an asshole sometimes. That, and, well, he seems pretty eager to keep you as a friend."

"He might just be turning over a new leaf," Natasha agreed. "It's been about a month since he last went out to a bar on his own. According to my data, that's quite the significant change."

"That could be it, yes." Pepper sighed. "I just hope that whatever is going on won't end in anyone's tears."

"We'll keep an eye on him, don't worry." Steve again offered her a small smile. "Join us? We were thinking of getting pizza once the next episode is over and we've managed to drag both Bruce and Tony out of their caves again."

"That sounds…" Like a lot of time she couldn't spare. Like something that could potentially turn very awkward, as she only really knew Natasha, here. Like an excellent way to get to know the people in Tony's life, now. "Rather good, actually."

"Good." Natasha sounded serious even as she nodded at Pepper. "Take the other armchair. It's the best way to avoid becoming target practice."

"Oi. I do have some manners, thanks." And, as though to punctuate this, Clint tossed the next piece at Natasha instead. She snatched it out of the air and put it into her mouth quite easily.

Well. Perhaps they could handle Tony regardless of what he was up to.

At least she fervently hoped so.

*

Captain America, Natasha had come to notice, was quite adorable in the mornings. Which was probably not something she should have been thinking about a great and respectable American icon, but honestly, it couldn't be helped. He was always perfectly awake from the moment he opened his eyes, it seemed, a trait which would have been rather annoying in most people, but somehow with Steve it just seemed right. Why, of course he was up with the sun and beamed like one too, why would you ask?

He was doing his usual adorable routine as she walked into the kitchen, the floor cool under her bare feet. He turned to smile at her, though, having heard her approach, a feat which most people could not boast. His hair was a bit messy, trailing a couple of droplets from the shower down his neck, his t-shirt and loose pants utterly failing to mask the muscular form. If she'd had any sort of tendency to fall for anyone, he would have been a prime candidate.

"Ah, Natasha." The smile he gave her was still a bit on the shy side, but genuine. "Do you think Clint will be up soon?"

"I doubt it." She passed him, heading for the cupboard that held their rather impressive selection of breakfast cereals. "He was halfway through a season of Bridezillas when I went to bed; if he finished that, he must have only gotten to sleep a couple of hours ago."

"Ah." Steve shook his head, flipping an egg in the frying pan. "I'm still not quite sure why he watches that kind of shows."

"Comfort, I suppose." Natasha shrugged, taking out her favorite box before hunting for a bowl. "Coulson loved bad reality TV. It probably reminds Clint of him." She glanced at the Captain, who now looked like a kicked puppy. "Oh, don't look like that. Clint's a big boy, he's not going to watch anything he doesn't want to."

"I suppose." Steve still looked like he wanted to fidget. "It's just… I still have trouble sometimes with things that remind me of my friends. The ones back in the war, that is."

Oh, if only he had known. "I think it's a good sign, really." Bowl located, cereal acquired, time to add milk and get to eating. "Soon after the attack, any mention of Coulson made him morose and guaranteed nightmares for the next night." Which had been more or less every night, but then, there were few things that didn't remind Clint of Phil. "Now, he can deal with things that directly relate to Coulson and then get on with his day. I think in part he's doing it just to show himself he can handle it. He's always been stubborn like that."

"Hopefully." Still a bit fidgeting, but he was getting back to normal. Thankfully, a distraction arrived almost immediately. "Ah, the coffee maker's on." Steve smiled. "That must mean Tony's going to be here soon."

"Most probably, yes." She glanced at the machine that had turned itself on, a clear sign of Jarvis's interference. "It's not for either of us, Clint's still passed out and Bruce takes tea, so it's a fair conclusion."

"I hope he's at least gotten some sleep." Steve frowned down at his eggs and bacon slices. "He works through the night far more often than he should."

"He's an adult, too. Not necessarily a responsible adult, I'll admit, but as long as he's not working himself to the ground and meets the most basic goals of his life, I think we can give him a bit of leeway when it comes to bedtimes." Her lips twitched. "Jarvis will tell us if he needs to get dragged to bed."

"I'm sure." Oh, was there a hint of pink on his ears? Captain America was threatening to flush at the idea of dragging Stark to bed. That was interesting to be sure.

Stark, of course, like the proverbial devil, was not far behind the mention of his name. He made no effort to mask his approach, the shuffling of feet and yawning announcing his arrival well before he actually made it into the kitchen. By the time he actually appeared in the doorway, both Natasha and Steve looked up to greet him.

Well. Either Tony had certainly gotten some sleep, or his workshop manners were more interesting than she could have imagined. At least she was fairly sure that no aspect of the engineering process strictly required him to be clad in nothing but a pair of boxers.

It was quite the interesting sight, she noted with a degree of impassiveness. He was in a rather good shape for someone with such irregular habits; she'd known he wasn't entirely a weakling from sparring with him, but even training clothes didn't quite do him justice. Of course, his arms were always impressive enough that even she grudgingly admitted it, if only to herself, but she rarely saw his legs or chest in quite so much detail. And there certainly was detail, now, his torso bare as he stretched at the door, the arc reactor shining from a ring of scarred skin.

With a start, she realized just how vulnerable Stark was like this, and just how much trust he had to have in them to casually stroll into the kitchen with nothing to shield himself. Here he was, scars and bruises and his lifeline throbbing for all to see, with both her and Steve in the room, and all he cared about was making a beeline for the coffee.

The spell was broken as she heard a quiet curse from Steve. Head whipping toward him, she saw him sticking a finger into his mouth, a momentary look of pain on his face. The only question she gave was a raised eyebrow, though it turned out she did not need to voice it; Tony took care of that for her.

"Too hot to handle, Cap?" There was a soft drawl in Tony's voice, likely from sleep, tinged with amusement as he cradled his fresh cup of coffee. "Do be careful. Pepper will be upset with me if she thinks we're playing too rough with you."

Steve turned back to his cooking, mumbling something about the frying pan. This time, Natasha noted, it wasn't just his ears that were flushed, and when Tony's attention turned back to his coffee, Steve stole a quick glance at him.

Well, well. This might turn out even more interesting than she'd thought.

*

It had taken him a moment, but finally, after a long time of waiting and planning, he had succeeded. He'd sent word out, right under their noses, and they hopefully did not have any idea he had done so. Now all he could do was wait a bit further, wait and hope his message actually went through.

He wasn't sure what had possessed them, giving him a tablet with Internet connection while they tried to keep him away from the outside world. There were other ways to keep him occupied, however frustrated he was at his mind recovering way ahead of his body, certainly ones that carried less of a risk of him finding out something he wasn't supposed to know, or acting against the restrictions imposed upon him. Nevertheless, they'd made a mistake, and that was all he needed.

Of course, he hadn't dared to do anything the first time he'd been given access. It was obvious he was being monitored, and he really wouldn't have put it past them to cut the connection the moment he searched for a phrase or visited a site that indicated he might not have been entirely innocent in his activities. Thus the first few times he had the tablet were mostly filled with pictures of cute animals and the latest episodes of his favorite shows, until the headache got the better of him and forced him to set it aside for the night. It was good, the doctors told him, an excellent sign that he could focus on something for an extended period, even if it was only the latest episode of some rather unfortunate people doing unfortunate things. He smiled tiredly and nodded and wondered what they would have said if they'd known he hadn't stopped thinking for a single waking moment ever since he'd first found himself back to consciousness.

It was to his advantage, though, playing up his frailness and poor concentration where it served him. Sure, it made them coddle him even more, but then he doubted they would have given him unrestricted outside access any time soon anyway. Instead, he made sure to appear tired and somewhat out of focus, never asking the wrong questions, never pressing the painful points. He smiled and slept and asked with a soft tone if there were new trading cards out, oh thank goodness, maybe he'd check those out online the next time he felt a bit better.

It was an almost laughable ruse, of course, but it seemed to be working, certainly well enough that they didn't take his tablet away. After a couple of visits to one of his old favorite sites, which didn't seem to trigger any alarms, he gathered his courage and posted his message. It was simple enough, memorized words sliding easily from his fingertips down to the last punctuation mark, but hopefully, it would reach his target.

Assuming they hadn't stopped looking, of course.

Oh, he fervently hoped they were still looking, because this was all he could do, now.

*

This had gone on far too long.

At first Bruce had been willing to just let it slide, thinking it was just Tony being Tony, but it was definitely not only dragging on but actually getting worse. Usually he would have tried not to think about it, but Tony didn't exactly have a shining track record of sharing important things when they should have been shared. As such, after yet another day of Tony pretending he hadn't just gone to meet some unnamed contact at some unmentioned place and no Bruce nothing is going on I'm just frowning at my phone because it insulted me, he decided enough was enough.

Finding Tony was thankfully not hard. Having checked with Jarvis that he was actually home and not on another unmentioned little trip who knew where, he headed straight to the workshop. Punching in his access code, he waited for the door to slide open before stepping in.

The workshop was filled with blaring music, as was pretty much the norm for Tony. The master of the house was currently tinkering with something, his tank top stained with grease and what appeared to be motor oil, similar dark stains covering his hands and forearms. As Bruce got closer he spotted another mark on his forehead near the hairline, presumably from wiping sweat off his face. At least nobody could honestly claim Tony shirked hard work.

"Tony." The music turned down a bit, Jarvis' way of alerting his master to the presence of another person in the workshop. This seemed to take a moment to register, though, as Tony kept his attention on the machine he was working on. "Tony!"

"Hm?" Tony blinked, turning to look at him, then grinned. "Ah, Bruce, my Bruce! Perfect timing. Wanna give me your opinion on something? I've been working on this for a while, but I can't decide if it would look better in red or black. What do you think?"

"What is that?" It looked more or less like someone had taken half a car's engine and added some glowing lights. Tony did love his glowing lights.

"This? This, my friend, is the finest coffee maker known to man. Or woman, or neuter, or whoever happens to desire some nice, hot caffeine-laden beverage. I don't discriminate."

"Coffee maker." Bruce's tone was flat as he repeated Tony's words. "It doesn't really look like one." And how did he get so oily from working on a coffee maker?

"Yeah, well, obviously this is still just the prototype. I have to get all the mechanisms figured out before I get to the finer details. With all the people in the house, I figured it might be good to have something that can make coffee exactly as everyone likes it. I swear, I thought I could be picky about my coffee, but at least I won't refuse to drink the wrong kind as long as it's got caffeine in it. I'm pretty sure I saw Natasha pull a knife on Cap last week for not putting sugar in the coffee he offered her. Poor thing looked like he was going to die of fright, which was pretty funny but still quite worrying when they're both living under my roof. Did you know Natasha takes sugar in her coffee? I didn't know she takes sugar in her coffee. I was pretty surprised, actually, I didn't think she'd be into sweet things. It's funny how people can just take you by surprise like that."

"Tony, you're being hyper." Which was better than moody and withdrawn, but probably somewhat less safe for his surroundings. "Have you by any chance been testing your prototype?" Caffeine high. He should have known.

"Maybe a couple of times. Just a little." Tony gave him a grin. "You want a cup? For a prototype, it's actually pretty damn good. I'm just that awesome, I guess."

"I think I'll pass for now." He preferred his coffee without grease stains, thanks. "I actually came here to talk to you."

"Talk to me? That's great. I love talking." Yeah, like anyone could be around him for five minutes and not notice that. "So what'd you want to talk about, my sciencey brother?"

"About whatever it is that's going on with you."

Tony blinked, in apparent surprise, but Bruce did notice some of the caffeine-driven enthusiasm fleeing from his face. Busted. "Going on? Nothing is going on with me. Or with anything, really. Nothing whatsoever going on, nope."

"Please don't take me for an idiot, Tony." He sighed. "There's obviously something going on that you aren't telling us. This is the first time I've seen you on such a good mood for months. Sure, you put on a nice grin, but it's not real most of the time. Is this still about Pepper? I thought for a while you'd more or less gotten over that, but then you just got all distracted and withdrawn instead of violently antisocial."

"It's not about Pepper." Tony shook his head. "It's not about anything, because there's nothing going on."

"Don't try to lie to me, Tony." Bruce sighed. "You get calls from someone and never mention who it is, and you always leave the room to talk when that happens. Sometimes you leave the tower without telling anyone the reason, and before you point out you're not a child, I know you have every right to go out on your own but usually you're all too happy to either share your latest schemes and drag someone unfortunate along or just whine about how unfair life is to make you to go to this boring meeting or that stupid consultation. Sneaking out without a word doesn't fit either pattern."

"I told you, it's nothing." Tony closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Oh, obviously there was nothing going on when he looked so bothered. "Nothing that concerns you, anyway."

"Tony, whatever it is, it's affecting you pretty badly, whether you admit it or not. I do believe that as your friend I have every right to be concerned." At least he was pretty sure they were friends. Who knew what qualified for that in the eyes of Tony Stark. The man's views on human interaction were peculiar at best, not that Bruce himself was much of an expert, either.

"And once again, it's nothing. At least it's going to be nothing very shortly. Things are almost wrapped up, I promise, and when I get to that point, it's all going to be just fine."

"So there is indeed something going on." As though that hadn't been obvious enough already. "You're not dying again, are you?" He'd heard about it. Of course he had heard about it. Pepper had made sure to inform him about the whole fiasco in excruciating detail just in case Tony pulled another such stunt again and needed someone else to help pull him out of the mess he'd made.

"What?" Tony blinked. "No! No, I'm not. I'd tell you if I was. I wouldn't put it past Natasha to drag me back from the dead just to kill me again for doing something that stupid."

"She'd have to get in line to do that." Bruce shook his head. "You know, whether you believe it or not, we care. Not just me, either. We're trying to be your friends, whether you like it or not, so if something is bothering you, we'd really like to know about it before anything blows up."

"Sir?" Jarvis' voice cut in, saving Tony from answering just now. "Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have just intercepted a code phrase of priority 1 status."

"Oh?" Tony frowned. "When and where?" Judging by his expression, a code phrase of priority 1 was important. Bruce certainly hoped he wouldn't just shut up about it, too.

"The message was just posted a moment ago." Jarvis sounded almost offended at the suggestion that it wouldn't have caught such a thing immediately. "It's the phrase C-23, Sir."

Bruce expected Tony to respond, to give some sort of instruction or to ask for more information, but instead, there was only silence. "Tony?" He frowned, glancing at his friend. "What's that supposed to mean?"

For a moment Tony remained silent, then turned to look at him, eyes wide and face pale. "Essentially? It means we just got e-mailed by a ghost."


	5. Scaring Hawks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony shares his revelation with everyone, after which Bruce has to convince Clint that he didn't mean to be cruel. Natasha takes a nap, while Pepper gets a look at everything from the outside. Afterwards, there is pizza, Tony knows more than he lets on, and Fury is not in a good place for negotiations with either Tony or Phil. After everything is said and done, though, Clint is the one who gets the most pain.

"So. What is this all about?" Steve frowned, looking at Tony, who was standing at the head of the table they were all seated around. He had called everyone together for an urgent meeting, though Steve hadn't quite grasped just how true the "urgent" part was until he'd arrived and found Tony still in his usual workshop gear. Sure, he rarely concerned himself with how he looked on a casual day around the tower; that much had been established by Tony's occasional habit of wandering around in his underwear. However, Steve reminded himself as he hastily pushed the memory out of his mind, when Tony was serious, he tended to put more thought to how he presented himself. The grave expression on his face was enough to concern Steve, but he got even more worried as it seemed they had enough of a crisis at their hands that Tony hadn't even taken the time to change out of his stained tank top, bare arms equally dirty from his tinkering. A mere workshop revelation wouldn't have called for so serious an expression. Something was wrong, here.

"Jarvis alerted me to something rather startling online." Tony paused. "Something that I thought you'd all like to hear about."

"This had better not be a cute video about a cat." Natasha frowned at Tony impatiently. "Speak up, Stark."

"Right." Tony sighed, cradling a big mug of coffee in his stained hands. Steve was almost about to remind him that was unhygienic, then decided that was ridiculous given how much caffeine he probably ingested while actually in his workshop. "Now, some of you are aware that I've agreed on certain code phrases with various people."

Steve blinked. "Code phrases?" Apparently he wasn't one of the people in the know.

"Yeah. Basically, certain phrases that they can post at certain places online — like commenting on a specific forum, or sending a predetermined message to a specific e-mail address. They've all been designed so they shouldn't attract outside attention coming from the person in question, but aren't something they're going to write for any other reason."

"You mean coded messages?" Clint leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. "So one of those came up?"

"They're not really coded, in that they don't have a specific meaning," Tony replied. "It's more just a way of alerting me to the fact that they need my attention or assistance but cannot contact me directly, due to being monitored or whatever. And, yes, one such message was picked up by Jarvis just a little while ago."

"So who is it from?" Natasha looked serious, now, not that Steve could blame her. They all knew Tony wouldn't have called them all if it wasn't important.

"The code phrase intercepted was C-23." Obviously, that didn't say anything to any of them, so Tony hurried to continue, "It's one I designated to Phil Coulson."

There was a momentary silence as everyone simply stared at Tony. Then, Steve shook his head. "Excuse me. Did you just say Coulson?" Surely he had misheard that somehow.

"Yes, I did." Tony took a sip of his coffee as though needing the energy just to speak. "I know it's impossible, I know it shouldn't have happened, but it did. I checked the message after Jarvis alerted me. It was the exact same wording we agreed on, on the specific discussion forum."

"And what are the odds of that all being coincidental?" Bruce looked suspicious, which Steve supposed was a natural enough reaction. He wasn't exactly feeling convinced, himself.

"Nil. Well, unless there's someone out there actually willing to trade their duplicate vintage Captain America trading card, military uniform edition, for a color-swap misprint of the special edition holographic Iron Man Mark III trading card. Which would be pretty funny, considering there is no color-swap misprint of said card, because there isn't a special edition holographic Iron Man Mark III card to begin with. Which I totally should get to, come to think of it, but that's beside the point."

"That's your agreed code phrase?" Steve wasn't sure if he should be amused. Probably not, given the larger implications of the issue. "And that's what came up?"

"Yeah. The same impossible trade I invented, word for word. So, either Coulson told someone the code phrase that he knew was to be known only to the two of us, or he's the one who sent it." And they all knew just how likely Coulson was to leak information like that to anyone. Well. How likely he had been.

"So maybe someone found it out through some other means." Natasha narrowed her eyes. "I mean, Jarvis picked it up, right? So it has to be saved somewhere in his data. Couldn't someone have wormed in and found it there?"

Tony raised a finger, though he still didn't take his hands from around his coffee mug. "One, you do not doubt Jarvis. Seriously, it's just not healthy, unless you actually enjoy freezing showers and stubborn doors." Another finger. "Two, the code phrases are stored on Jarvis's data as-is, with only their alphanumerical designations attached. Jarvis doesn't know who each code responds to, so nobody could steal the info from him. Only the person in question and I personally can draw the connection."

"So you're actually suggesting Phil sent the message?" Clint looked awfully pale all of a sudden, his breath sounding labored. Steve supposed it would have been even more shocking for him than the rest of them, given how long he had worked with the man. "Because if so, you'd better get me some zombie-killing arrows."

"I'm not sure. I'm just saying it's what the data points to." Another sip of coffee, after which Tony frowned down at his drink as though it had personally offended him, a gesture which Steve couldn't help but find strangely endearing. "Jarvis is tracking down the origin of the message right now. Once it's been placed, I'm going to find out just who sent the message. I just figured you'd all like to hear about this right away."

"And what if, against all the odds and all the facts we know, it is him?" Bruce's tone was quiet, but then it wasn't like anyone else was making a sound. "What then?"

"Then we will know two things." Tony looked at them now, each one in turn, and there was an exhaustion in his eyes that Steve suspected had nothing to do with missed sleep. "One, that Fury has lied to us again, and two, that we will need a damn good plan of operations."

They all mulled over this for a second, thinking of what they would do. Of what they would have to do. Of the chances that the Director had indeed lied to their faces once again.

It was Bruce who broke the silence again. "I think I'll have some of that coffee after all."

*

Bruce wasn't entirely surprised to see Clint rushing out of the room as soon as it was clear his presence wasn't required anymore. He considered going after him, but caught Natasha's eye, the tiny shake of her head. Not yet. Clint needed a moment to gather himself.

The coffee was excellent, Tony had been right about that much. It helped him focus on what he should do. Tony hardly even noticed anything amiss; he was too busy putting together his personal plan, throwing it in the air for Jarvis to execute and Steve to comment on. Natasha had slipped out some time during his cup of coffee, though he had a feeling she wouldn't be too difficult to find. Sure, if she'd wanted to avoid him, he wouldn't have stood a chance, but she likely wanted an update on Clint as soon as Bruce was done placating him.

First, though, he had to find Clint again. And that was not going to be a simple matter.

Figuring that Clint had managed to get over the worst of it by now, and an intervention at this point would do more good than harm, he stepped out of the room so as not to distract Tony. "Jarvis?" he asked, hoping he wouldn't take too much of the AI's attention. "Would you happen to know where I can find Scarecrow?"

"She is currently in the living room, Doctor Banner," Jarvis replied pleasantly. "I would assist you in finding Agent Barton myself, but he keeps finding new ways to evade my sensors."

"Well, at least it gives Tony something sensible to do." It was a constant arms race, Clint's efforts to hide from Tony's tech and Tony's subsequent upgrades. So far the only thing Tony had come up with that could somehow locate Clint was Scarecrow, which a part of Bruce suspected was simply because he didn't want to hide from her entirely. She was, after all, technically Natasha's bot.

Now he would just have to hope she would cooperate.

Thankfully, Scarecrow seemed to agree with him that Clint shouldn't be alone too long. She quickly scurried off as soon as Bruce asked her to locate the archer, returning in a moment to tug him along. Following her, Bruce found himself taking the route up to the tiny observation deck Tony had built in a high corner of the training room and then promptly forgotten about. Clint was huddled up in a corner, staring out into the empty room.

"You know Tony didn't mean to be cruel, right?"

"Could have fooled me." Clint's voice was flat. "I've spent most of my time since May trying to get it through to my head that Phil's gone, and now he comes and tells me that might not be true."

Bruce sighed. "I know it hurts," he said, careful to keep his voice soft. "But you know Tony. When he means to hurt someone, he does it through insults, veiled or not. Sure, he may go for sore spots, but I've never seen him needle someone about something they've lost. Sure, I'm not the best judge, having only known him as long as you have, but I've spent a considerable amount of my time in the past half a year around him and I think I've got a pretty good grasp on him."

"So he's just being an asshole by accident?"

"My guess is, in this situation? Tony is trying to be kind. He may not know the details, but he knows Coulson was important to you. He may say he needs to make sure it's really him, but I think Tony is a hundred percent certain, he just needs proof to present to us. Tony wouldn't have called the meeting — he wouldn't have given you hope — if he thought it at all possible that it's all going to come to nothing."

"How can you tell?" Clint finally turned to look at him. "I mean, this is Stark. No offense to the guy's intelligence, I know he's every bit as smart as he says and then some, but he's also not exactly the paragon of thinking ahead. How do you know he didn't just make a new, exciting discovery and decide he had to share it as soon as possible? Show off how smart he is and what he's found?"

He couldn't, a small part of Bruce thought. As much as he wanted to say he was certain, he couldn't forget how fast Tony had called for everyone, not running any initial checks. Sure, he trusted Jarvis and he trusted his system, but Tony had not even stopped to think.

"Because Tony's not as bad as he appears," he said instead, his tone still soft and gentle. "He's not even as bad as he thinks he is. He knows the pain of losing someone, knows the pain of thinking you're about to lose the most important thing to you. And whatever he may claim, he has enough compassion never to wish that on a friend."

"But why didn't he wait, then?" Clint's voice almost cracked. He had to be pretty badly affected. "Why didn't he just sit on it until he could present proof that Phil's — that he's alive?"

"Two reasons, I think." Bruce thought about it, the only way it made sense. "One, as far as he is concerned, he has proof. He may not have seen him, but he received a message only Coulson could have sent. I know it may seem like just too much trust in his tech, but it's more. It's trust in Coulson, trust that he wouldn't have told the message to anyone else, would have known what it could do in the wrong hands. He trusts that Coulson wouldn't have given anyone the weapon to hurt you if he were gone."

"Right." Clint didn't sound convinced, but the line of his shoulders relaxed a bit. Bruce would have known; he knew all about tension. "And the other reason?"

"Because he is thinking of how he would feel." Because Tony could indeed put himself in someone else's shoes. "Because if this were Pepper, he would want to know as soon as there was hope, as soon as there was any chance she wasn't gone forever."

"Even if it were false hope?"

"The thing you need to understand is that Tony is a gambler." That much he had figured out on his own, though he had never personally witnessed the actual playing habit Pepper had mentioned once or twice. "If he wasn't, he wouldn't go out there in his suit and save the day and think he's going to come out on top. Hell, he wouldn't have trusted the other guy if that wasn't the case. For Tony, the risk of having his heart broken all over again would be well worth the potential gain of getting back the most important thing in his life."

"That's all well and good for him. What gives him the right to take those risks with my heart?"

"You want my opinion?" As Clint nodded, looking a bit wary, Bruce gave him a faint smile. "Because he knows that, when it comes down to it, you would rather take that risk as well."

Clint was quiet for a long time. As he spoke at last, his voice was little more than a whisper. "How can he know that?"

You fight evil with a bow and an arrow, it's obvious you're fine with risks, Bruce thought but didn't say. It wouldn't have been correct anyway. "Because he knew Coulson," he said instead. "He may claim otherwise, may say he was only Pepper's friend and nothing more, but Tony knew him and liked him better than most people he has known for decades. And he knew that anyone who was fond of Coulson always took the risk of getting their heart broken, anyway."

"He couldn't have known that." So why didn't he sound convinced of his own words? "He never saw any of that, any of the danger. To him, Phil was just another paper pusher getting into his business."

"He took one look at me and saw not a monster, but someone who could be worthy of helping everyone," Bruce said, his tone quiet. "Do you really think he could have known Coulson for a year and a half and not known exactly how many scars that suit of his was hiding?"

"Except I actually know each of those scars," Clint murmured. "Know exactly how many times I almost lost him before."

"And that is exactly what Tony is counting on. He knows that you wouldn't have been close to him in the first place if you couldn't handle the pain."

Again, there was a silence before Clint spoke. "Nevertheless, if this turns out to be some wild goose chase, I'm going to kick his ass."

"Believe me, you won't be the only one." With Tony himself doubtlessly at the front of the line.

Clint nodded, paused, then stood up at last. "I'm going to the range," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Send the pest after me if anything comes up."

"Got it." Bruce gathered Scarecrow so she wouldn't follow Clint, watching him walk away.

Okay. Now it was time to face the other highly dangerous super spy assassin.

His life, Bruce thought, was never going to be ordinary again.

*

Murdering Fury was looking more and more appealing by the minute.

Of course, she wouldn't truly do that. Sure, she could have reached him if she'd wanted to; the security at SHIELD may have been excellent by most standards, but to keep her out they would have needed more than just excellent. However, not only would it have been difficult to stab someone in the heart when she wasn't entirely certain he even had one, but she also wasn't sure she wanted to deal with the consequences. Not that she couldn't kill him without leaving incriminating evidence if she really put her mind to it — she was a professional, after all, and one of the best — but there would hardly be much of a point in killing him in vengeance and not have it known just why the death was deserved. And, however much of a reputation she might have built for herself, if she did kill Fury SHIELD would be obligated to at least make an effort to track her down, so what if she could make experienced field agents soil their pants just by looking at them sharply.

At one point, she would have done it. Not right away, of course, not until Coulson had been secured, but as soon as he was safe she would have sneaked in to end Fury once and for all in return for all of Clint's sleepless nights and restless dreams. Sure, it would have meant going on the run, possibly for the rest of their lives, but she wouldn't have minded. After all, she would still have had her home with her, in so far as she had ever claimed one to begin with.

Except now things weren't as simple. Now, when Clint woke up, it wasn't always her who stayed with him until he could stop shaking; it might be Bruce, puttering around the kitchen making himself some tea, or Steve who never quite knew what to say but never wavered either, or Tony who just kept talking until the pressure of silence faded into a constant ramble that might not have made much sense but worked well to suppress the guilty whispers at the back of Clint's mind.

They were there for her, too, sometimes, not that she would have admitted she needed it, of course she didn't actually need anyone but she knew herself well enough to admit that, on occasion, she did enjoy the company. She could have lived alone, or with Clint, had done so in the past, but somehow she had gotten used to being surrounded by people. A part of her now expected to share her breakfast with Steve and her dinner with Bruce, to do damage control when Tony tried to feed Steve utterly ridiculous lies about the present day, to be the sensible one who called Pepper when things got out of hand. She liked it, Natasha found to something of her surprise. She liked knowing that Clint was in good hands even if she wasn't looking after him every hour of the day, liked the way Bruce didn't seem to even notice her watching her work even when she made no attempt to conceal herself, liked being able to turn to Jarvis when she wasn't feeling quite up to human interaction but needed to hear something besides the echoes of her own voice. It wasn't the life she had led for most of her existence, but now that she was used to it, she found herself rather reluctant to give it up.

It wasn't even Natasha who was calming Clint down, now. For all that she might have known him the best, Bruce was something of an expert on Tony, and that expertise was now called upon to explain just why Stark would make such an announcement in such a blunt manner and without any preamble. She could have given her own version, sure, but somehow she doubted "he's an asshole" would have helped convince Clint to actually work with Stark and the rest of the team in this matter. And they needed to cooperate if they wanted to solve this situation to anyone's satisfaction.

She didn't react to the sound of Bruce entering the lab, comfortably nested in her little nook in the corner, out of sight from the entrance yet with a good vantage point of most of the space. She had quickly claimed it as her favorite spot; out of all the not inconsiderable space Stark had dedicated to the use of the team, Bruce's lab was the most peaceful at any time. The worst one might expect was a teasing Tony, and his approaches of the lab were generally loud enough that she managed to make her way out before he actually burst through the doors, sometimes literally, full of comments and questions and mad ideas bursting out in every direction. Sometimes she even stayed to watch the chaos that often resulted from the clash of two mad geniuses, a hobby that had so far netted her several headaches and her rather useful Clint-locating spider robot. This time, however, Bruce was the one noisily walking through the lab, looking rather harried enough without the added effect of a Stark pushing him.

As Bruce reached his latest experiment on a work bench, he spun around, eyes immediately falling upon Natasha in her secluded little corner. There was absolutely no surprise on his face, as was to be expected. Not only was he fairly used to her avoiding the chaos in his lab by now, but even an idiot could have figured out that she would want to know the results of his little quest. And for all the things Bruce Banner might have been, an idiot was not one of them.

"How is he?" Natasha crossed her legs, leaning back against the wall. She didn't bother to clarify.

"Clint? About as well as you can expect, I guess." Bruce sighed, then took off his glasses and started to clean them, a nervous little habit she tried hard not to find endearing. "I think I did manage to convince him that Tony would not do this if he did not absolutely believe his data is right, and certainly not out of cruelty. I'm not sure if I managed to convince him, but at least he promised to wait until we have more information before deciding if he should kill Tony for twisting the knife."

"I wouldn't let him." Natasha shrugged. "Stark can be an asshole, but I think this is more about him being an idiot. Besides, if it turns out he's right, Clint will forgive him for absolutely anything."

"I just hope it is indeed true." Bruce sighed again before putting his glasses back on. "Not that I enjoy the idea of having been lied to again, but if this falls through, I'm not sure how Clint will react. Which Tony should have considered before he called for a mad-eyed team meeting, but then, I highly doubt Clint has told him just why this is such a big deal."

"He wouldn't have. After all, he didn't even tell you." Nor had Natasha told him, not in as many words, but then she wasn't all that surprised that Bruce had put it together very quickly. "Though then, one would hope Stark could have figured it out for himself as well."

"Somehow I'm not surprised Tony has failed to put the puzzle pieces together." Bruce shook his head. "At the moment, he's trying to track down the signal. Once we have it down, we'll probably need your and Clint's knowledge of various SHIELD facilities to put together a plan. I know all of us probably want to just march up to Fury and demand Coulson to be handed over, but chances are we'll have better success finding him ourselves."

"Right." SHIELD. Of course it was SHIELD, nobody else could have Coulson. She wouldn't allow herself to think anyone else could have Coulson. "I suppose I should try and get some sleep, then. I presume nobody will be getting much rest once we get a proper lead."

"Probably not, no." Bruce gave her a faint smile. "Want me to wake you up when there's news?" It wasn't a question, not as such; certainly he wasn't asking what the words seemed to convey, as it should have been obvious enough she wanted to be informed as soon as possible. No, the actual question was hidden underneath, the silent question of whether she would allow him to stay near while she slept.

"Or if Clint freaks out." And similarly, she did not answer the actual question. She did not need to. Instead, she leaned further back into her corner, head resting against a cool wall. It wasn't the most comfortable position, perhaps, but few places would give her a better rest.

She soon drifted off to the sound of Bruce shuffling about his lab, knowing beyond any doubt that she had never been safer than this.

*

The first message Pepper almost passed by.

It didn't look like anything special, simply an e-mail from Tony with a video file attached. He often found the strangest things fascinating when he was sleep-deprived or on a bad caffeine high or both, and she was certain she'd seen all the videos in existence about cats batting at computer keyboards, thanks to Tony's linking habits. This looked like more of the same, just a simple "Thought you'd like to see this" and the link. If it hadn't been from Tony, she never would have even seen it, her spam filter being quite efficient.

As it happened, though, she'd had quite the harrowing morning, and things were not looking to be turning out any better. She barely had time to eat lunch at her desk, a sandwich Happy had personally insisted on getting for her, a brief luxury in the middle of a hectic day. Taking her first bite, she clicked on the link, hoping for something cute and soothing before she went out and strangled someone.

There were no cats in sight, nor any other cute animals. Instead, she saw a small room, little more than a cell, though the bed looked fairly comfortable and there was a desk right next to it, a tablet resting on it. The sole occupant of the room was a man, moving with some difficulty over to the table as she watched. For a brief moment that passed more than she would have liked, Pepper thought Tony had decided to imprison someone and then send her footage of his latest foolish trick.

Then, however, the man turned, just enough for the camera to capture his face, and she almost choked on her sandwich.

Reaching for her cell phone as soon as she'd managed to get her breath back, Pepper was pleased to find Tony answering her call right away. Then, he'd probably expected it. "What," she ground out, "was that?"

"Oh, just some fresh footage from this morning." Tony looked far too cheerful. "Did you know the security on security cameras is basically nonexistent? Well, I got past it, which means it could as well not exist, at least to me. And that's obviously all that matters."

"Fresh footage from where?" No, Pepper, no strangling Tony. She needed him for the R&D, and besides Happy might have been upset. Nobody wanted to see a grown man of his stature cry. "Tony, is that..." She couldn't say it. Not yet.

"Our good agent? Sure seems like it, since that tablet is the end point of a track I made from a message that seems to have come from Coulson. After that it was pretty trivial to track down the facility's security system to get some footage."

"But what does this mean?" Except that Phil was alive. Actually alive.

"Right now? We're figuring out the specifics of the facility so we can decide what to do."

"And were you going to inform me about your plans?" She was quite surprised he even told her this much now. Tony was a firm believer in dodging punishment rather than asking permission.

"Well, I wasn't sure if you'd like to know. Plausible deniability and all, after all." She heard someone talking in the background, and the sound of Tony walking around. Apparently they were talking together. "Basically? I've got a hawk here who quite misses his agent. And, since I don't deal well with moping, I'm going to get said agent back."

"Tony. You can't just attack some super secret facility." Great. She felt a headache coming in.

"Sure I can. It's a SHIELD facility, you know. Clint and Natasha know it pretty well, so we'll have a leg up there. We've got a basic plan figured out, now we're just hacking the schematics and putting together some info to make sure we can pull it off with as little danger to bystanders as possible."

"And maximum property damage, I presume."

"Now, I have no idea how you could ever suggest such a thing." Tony's lie sounded downright cheerful.

"I know you, Tony. You are a vindictive bastard when provoked. You'd love nothing as much as rubbing this in their faces."

"Well, our plan does include the Hulk. You know how the big guy handles doors. Or, well, walls. Not much of a difference there." There was a snort in the background. Was that Bruce? "Basically, he smashes his way in, Widow and Hawkeye keep people out of the way, Cap and I swoop in and save the princess, we all get the hell out of there. But feel free to claim I never said a thing if anyone asks."

"So why did you send me the video at all? I mean, if you were going to keep me in the dark."

There was a momentary silence, enough that she wondered if Tony was there at all, or if he'd been distracted by his battle plans. Then, however, he spoke again. "I know I may seem like a total idiot in this department, but I'm actually not entirely blind to social niceties." At least sometimes he had realistic views of his own skills. "Coulson's your friend, even I could see that. I figured you'd like to know he's apparently not dead after all."

"I see. Thank you." Pepper paused. "Aren't you afraid of SHIELD's retaliation?"

"Oh, sure. Except we figure they owe us at least this much for, you know, saving all our collective asses." And again the cheerful tone, in a place it most definitely did not belong. "Fury says there's going to be new threats, and we're his main line of defense. As long as we don't kill anyone, I doubt he's going to do anything too bad, especially since this is all his fault anyway."

"Right." Which made a frightening amount of sense, made all the more frightening by the fact that it was coming out of Tony. "Is there anything I can do?" The words slipped out before she realized it, but once they were there, she found she did not want to take them back.

"What?" Even Tony sounded startled for once. "Pepper, you know you don't have to."

"I know that." She drew a deep breath. "However, like you said, Phil is my friend. If I can do anything to help you bring him home, without ruining the company and my personal reputation entirely, tell me what it is."

"Well, there is one thing." Tony's grin was audible in his voice. "Can you get the lawyers working on something?"

As luck would have it, Tony's next message arrived just as she was negotiating a contract with the Stark Industries SHIELD liaison. He was a young thing who seemed almost nervous to be in front of her, a fact which amused her immensely. As she reminded herself, it would have been quite mean to scare him on purpose. However, given his rather unremarkable presence she didn't even think twice about checking her phone at the familiar chime of a message from Tony.

_'At location. Clint's heading to the best place to cause mayhem, Nat's walking in the front door to get my probe in. I could get used to inside men.'_

Pepper very carefully did not smirk, leaving the message unanswered. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage Tony.

Of course, being Tony, he didn't need much of an encouragement. All too soon she heard the chime again, announcing the arrival of a new message.

_'Scarecrow is amazing. She followed Hawkass to his perch without a problem, and managed to carry a whole spare quiver up there. Who's a genius? I'm a genius.'_

This time, she did type a reply, manicured nails clicking softly against the screen of her Starkphone. _'No casualties, remember.'_

_'Relax, it's mainly sleeping gas arrows. My new trick. Poor things deserve a nap anyway.'_

Which, yes, was probably true, but still. Even this little thing looked worn out, and he was located in LA, quite far from the Helicarrier which she obviously knew nothing about.

"Um, Miss Potts?" Wow, he actually dared speak up without being addressed. "Is something the matter?" From most people it would have sounded indignant, insulted at being so rudely ignored. However, he managed to make it sound like he was apologizing for demanding her attention.

"Oh, do forgive me, Agent Bradley, it's nothing too important. Tony merely texted me about his latest experiment."

"Mr. Stark did?" The man's eyes widened just a bit. "Is it — is it something dangerous?" Honestly, what was SHIELD thinking sending him to meet her? If she hadn't had such good news over lunch she'd have eaten him alive. It was obvious she frightened him just by sitting there.

"Hulk-proof pants." It wasn't even a lie. Tony had been working on those on and off for a while now, and if the big guy was to make an appearance, she was certain they'd at least try to keep him decent. Hopefully. "So you might understand why I prefer to check the updates right away."

"Ah, um, yes." He swallowed visibly. "It does sound like it could get dangerous."

"Indeed." A chime. Well, so much better than chatting with Bradley.

 _'Time to head in. Now let's hope the big guy knows what he's supposed to do.'_ Oh, she was so going to murder him later. Slowly.

There was a lull in the messages, one she did her best to fill with something resembling negotiations. It was almost annoying how little input the poor man offered. When the chime sounded again, she was almost certain she saw a relieved look on his face at the reprieve.

_'It's definitely Coulson. He actually fainted when Cap picked him up.'_

Oh God. It was Phil. They had Phil, he was alive and relatively safe. It took a real effort to keep her face neutral as she quickly typed up a response. _'Get everyone home safe.'_

_'On it. Clint's already back at the plane. Apparently sleep arrows worked like a charm.'_

Right, Clint. Clint and his arrows. …Clint and his bow.

Clint who never seemed to be quite happy, who Tony had said couldn't even sleep properly, who had known Phil so very well, had a bow. Like the musical thing. The one you would use to play the cello.

Bradley was lucky she wasn't quite as dangerous as the rest of Tony's social circle, because for a moment, she felt rather tempted to actually do something very painful to him as a proxy for all of SHIELD.

She hoped all the lawyers working on Tony's utterly insane takeover idea were working as fast as their exorbitant fees would indicate.

*

Fury called approximately thirteen minutes after they made it back to the Tower. By that time Tony had already poured himself a drink in preparation, a screen next to Fury’s scowling face tracking the others through Jarvis as they got Coulson settled into one of the nicer bedrooms, Bruce following everything with a doctor’s concerned eyes.

"Ah, Director Fury." He gave the man his best grin, raising his glass in a mock salute. "I have to say I'm almost disappointed in you. I fully expected to see your ugly mug by the time we got home. Not that I'm really complaining about the respite, mind."

"Stark." What was it about his name that made people say it with the tones usually reserved for swearwords? Really, now. There were so many more satisfying words if one wanted to cuss. Like fuck. He quite liked fuck, especially the way it made Steve bristle whenever it was said in mixed company, even though Natasha found such decorum rather amusing. "What the hell are you playing at?" Ah, already better.

"Playing? You wound me, Director. I was so proud of our perfectly planned and executed operation. And you call that playing? I'm hurt, Nicky boy, I really am." He took a sip of his drink. Like hell was he going to deal with a pissed-off Fury without alcohol.

"You attacked a SHIELD facility!" Was that an eye twitch? Tony thought it was. Did the other eye twitch too under the eye patch? Now that was an interesting thought.

"I'd call it less an attack and more of a rescue mission, really. I mean, honestly, Nicky. You can't get us all fond of a man and then not expect us to bust him out. Or did you forget we're kinda heroes? Because we totally are. I mean, we saved the world and all. I'm pretty sure that counts."

"Heroes don't wreck half a base." Honestly? Had he not seen Manhattan after the Chitauri attack? Sure, most of it hadn't been their work, but it had still been pretty damn impressive destruction. Obviously works of heroics sometimes involved collateral damage.

"You'll note there wasn't a single casualty, though." They had been very careful about that. It wasn't the poor agents' fault they were unfortunate enough to be working for an idiot. "Sure, some of them will probably be out of commission for quite a while, but considering the last time we had a proper fight I took down an alien mothership, I'd say they're pretty damn lucky. Besides, it's all their fault for being stubborn."

"You can't just blast in and kidnap an agent just because you felt like it!"

"Kidnap? Now don't be ridiculous, Nick. The only agent we might like to obtain is Phil Coulson, and clearly we can't kidnap a dead man. Or are you accusing us of being grave robbers? Because just between you and me, I really don't think Barton needs to be given any more ideas. He was very fond of the Agent, if you catch my drift."

At least Fury had the decency to pause for a second. Then, however, he frowned again. "I can't just have you running around as you please, regardless of motivations."

"So fire us." He took another sip. "Actually, don't bother, because I'm quitting. Consulting, avenging, whatever, I'm not doing it for you anymore. I'll be quite busy managing my new team, I believe. I was thinking of calling them the Avengers. Catchy, don't you think?"

"If you think I'm just going to sit back and let you go all vigilante —"

"I'm going to be perfectly correct in thinking so." Oh, he had no regrets about cutting Fury off. Judging by the look on his face, it was a high time someone did. "Because you know what? You can't shut us down, however much you'd like to. You can't, because you need us. If there's another attack like this, you'll need us. Maybe next time, there won't be time to gather us from all around the world, or worse sit on your pretty ass and hope a couple of agents with really big tasers can actually do shit. So you're going to let us do what we want to as long as we're not being a bigger threat to world security than the Chitauri, which should be pretty damn hard to do even with the Hulk, and maybe, if you're playing nice and say pretty please, maybe every now and then we might actually listen when you come crying for help."

"You're seriously going to do this, Stark?" Fury's expression was dark. Was it racist to think that? Tony wasn't sure. He might have to ask Rhodey about that later. "All this for one man?"

"Funny, it didn't seem to bother you that he was just one man when you used his supposed death to manipulate us. Hell, I took on a god for that one man. Sure, there was also the teeny tiny matter of re-purposing my house for nefarious deeds, but mainly it was for the good agent, really. I can always rebuild the tower — which I've been working on, by the way, the remodeling is going great, thanks for not asking — but rebuilding a man is generally much harder." He paused, swirling the drink in his glass. "How'd you do that, anyway? I haven't had a lot of time to question Coulson himself just yet. Then again, I wouldn't put it past you not to tell him, either."

Fury was quiet for a moment, and as he spoke, it was only with a grudging tone. "He was technically dead for a while. We managed to resuscitate him, but it was only barely. I wasn't lying when I said he was down."

"And you couldn't let us know later, either? No quick, hey guys, in addition to saving the world, we can celebrate good ol' Phil being back? No, you decided to keep us in the dark, let us believe he was dead because obviously the trauma wasn't bad enough otherwise, and even locked him up to keep us from finding out. As though you hadn't given us enough lies already."

"It was necessary." Of course he said it was. It wasn't like he was going to admit he'd done it just for shits and giggles. "I couldn't risk you losing your motivation when I finally got you to work as a team without problems."

"See, here's the funny thing. We're pretty much tighter together than ever, now, which I think our little operation very much proved. And not because some bastard slaughtered a good man who believed in us, though I'll admit that definitely worked, but because we're all pretty damn pissed off at you." Tony narrowed his eyes. "I can't act on your command with good conscience, Director. Not when I'd always be wondering just what you aren't telling me this time, what evil ends I'm actually furthering when I think I'm being nice and saving the world. I've had enough of people sneaking behind my back to use my skills for things I'd never approve of. And believe me, the others aren't too happy about being manipulated in such a cruel way, either. So, if you know what's good for you, you'll indeed sit back and shut up and be glad you got away with one wrecked base and us taking Phil."

"He is still an Agent of SHIELD."

"Pretty sure even your contracts end at death. And even if they didn't, I think he's quitting anyway. Apparently he wasn't too happy about being your dirty little secret, considering he sent out a distress message. And I don't care about what you think is necessary or not. Haven't seen any Chitauri around here for a while, but I know for a fact Barton woke up in the middle of the night at least three times last week because he was dreaming about Coulson. So unless you'd like to tell me it was necessary for the safety of the world for me to found a grief support group for PTSD sufferers in my living room with meetings at three in the morning, just accept that you've lost control of the Avengers. And that includes even the one in sunglasses."

"Agent Coulson is not an Avenger." And here Tony had been thinking he was only half blind.

"Funny, didn't see anyone else taking on Loki with a huge experimental weapon and very nearly getting killed in the process. Wait, yes, I did. His name was Iron Man, I believe, you know, with the nice suit. A great guy, I've got to say. Really handsome and charming and witty."

"What is your point, Stark?"

"I thought I'd made it very clear." A somewhat bigger sip. "I'm taking over funding and organizing the Avengers, including our very own agent, and you're going to let me and not bother us unless we're at least at DEFCON 3, in which case I expect to get the full details before we act. You do that, and we're going to stay out of your hair." He paused. "Oh, and one more thing."

"And what's that? A gold-plated toilet seat?" Come on, if he wanted something that extravagant yet impractical, he'd go out and buy it.

"Nope. I just believe you owe Phil a full set of Captain America trading cards in place of the ones you so inconsiderately soiled because your command of the English language apparently wasn't enough to make your point in words alone. They're vintage, you know, so it's going to take a while to find them all, but I've got faith in your resources. And don't even try to pass off any forgeries. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't hesitate to tase you for such a transgression, and I'm fully prepared to get some popcorn out if that happens."

"You're enjoying this."

"Actually, yes, I am. Mainly the fact that a genuinely good man I thought was dead is, in fact, not dead, but yeah, I'm also very much enjoying being an asshole to you. And you know what? You deserve every bit of it." He shook his head. "We're more similar than either of us would like to admit, Nicky. We're both too smart for our own good, have more resources at our immediate disposal than most small countries, look wicked good in a goatee, and think that sometimes, just sometimes, the ends might justify the means. However, given our radical differences in opinion when it comes to the question of which ends justify which means, the best we can ever realistically expect to do together is taking down a common foe."

"This won't end well for you."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But hey, at least I've got a drink." He gave Fury a smirk, lifting his glass in a salute. "The full set of cards, Nicky. Don't you dare fail me." And then, before Fury managed to respond, he cut off the contact, then finished his drink in one go, because damn it he'd deserved it.

Setting the glass down, he stood up and stretched, still somewhat sore from the mission. Glancing at the point where Fury's face had scowled just moments before, he shrugged. He trusted Jarvis to be able to block any further attempts at contacting him.

For now, he had a certain back from dead agent to talk to.

It was about the time he found out if Coulson actually watched Supernanny.

*

For all the urgency of the mission earlier, there was no hurry now, no rush that might lead to someone getting hurt. They got Coulson into the room prepared for him, careful not to hurt him any further in the process. Steve himself helped him walk over to the bed and sit down, not wanting to hurt his pride by carrying him.

There was a strange kind of hushed feeling in the room even as Bruce rushed to check him over, Steve stepping back to give the good doctor room to work. Natasha was standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, eyeing Coulson as though she wasn't quite sure what to say. Not that Steve himself had any idea what to say or do, either. They'd planned the operation thoroughly, executed it perfectly. What they hadn't thought about was what to do afterward.

Coulson looked much the same as when they had first met, though more tired and worn, his face pale and body thin. He seemed to have aged a decade in the months since the attack, but he was alive. Alive and whole, aside from some new scars.

"Well." Coulson's voice was quiet, though Steve detected some tones of amusement. "I wasn't sure what to expect when I posted the code phrase, but inspiring a full-on Avengers assault wasn't very high on the list."

"See, here's the funny thing, you call one of us, the others follow. We're kind of a team nowadays, though some would deny that." Natasha's expression was the epitome of calm, but there was an underlying tension in her. "A team that doesn't take well to being misled."

"I apologize." He closed his eyes momentarily, looking so very tired. "I never meant to cause any distress."

"There is nothing you have done wrong, Agent." Steve shook his head. "It seems pretty clear that the one carrying on the charade was the Director."

"Nevertheless, it was because of me that you had to go through such things."

"In any case, it's not us you should apologize to." Even if Natasha's tone was tight as she spoke. "None of us suffered nearly as much as a certain someone."

"Ah, yes. I was starting to wonder when you brought it up." Coulson's eyes closed again. "I never wished to do that to him."

"It's fine." Bruce touched Coulson's shoulder, a gentle gesture of concern. "You're here now. He'll be fine."

"I suppose." There was a touch of a smile on the tired face. "You know, you can come out now."

Even Steve had to admit he was somewhat surprised to see Hawkeye stepping out from behind Natasha. Sure, if he had concentrated he could have detected the extra sound of breathing out in the corridor, but he had been too focused on Coulson to pay attention to it, aside from a fleeting thought wondering where Clint had disappeared to once his part of the mission was over.

He looked careful, now, almost afraid, walking into the room with slow steps as Natasha moved aside. There was an apprehensive look on his face, as though not sure what to expect.

"Should have known you'd notice me."

"Yes, well," Coulson opened his eyes, looking over at him, "I've kind of made it my business to always know where you are. You should know this by now, Barton."

"Trying to keep it in mind, Sir." Clint came to a halt in front of Coulson, both Steve and Bruce taking an almost instinctive step back to allow them more space. For a moment they both looked at each other, expressions unreadable.

Then Clint was suddenly on his knees, head falling into Coulson's lap, arms reaching around his legs as though in a desperate attempt to keep him there, keep him from leaving again. "They told me you were dead," he murmured, eyes shut. "Fury told me so. He gave me a fucking urn full of ashes and said it was you…"

"I'm so sorry, Clint," Coulson whispered, tracing his fingertips over the archer's head. "I never wanted that for you…"

Steve swallowed. He knew the two had known each other for quite a while, but even so, he would have been an idiot to think this was just a handler and an asset. And for all his other flaws, an idiot was something he had never been.

Coulson traced a line across Clint's scalp, down the back of his neck, dipping underneath his collar, entirely focused on him as though they were the only people in the room. He then drew out a thin chain, one that had been entirely concealed by Clint's shirt. "You've kept it."

"I kept them both." Clint's voice was rough with what Steve assumed were tears. "Fury gave me yours."

"Ah." Again, he closed his eyes briefly. "It was gone when I first woke up. I kept asking for it, but nobody seemed to know where it had gone."

"I had it the whole time." Clint paused. "Well, ever since we got back home."

"Back?" Coulson looked at him questioningly, eyes then flicking to Natasha and back, probably guessing who the rest of the 'we' was supposed to be.

"We went to Budapest for some time." Natasha's voice betrayed nothing whatsoever. "Clint wasn't feeling very well, so I figured some distance was needed."

"I see." Coulson trailed his fingertips around Clint's neck along the chain. "May I?"

"Please." Clint lifted his head, now, allowing Coulson to pull the rest of the chain out from under the shirt. There were two rings hanging on it, simple bands of gold with no adornments.

Coulson reached to open the lock on the chain, letting it fall into his lap. Very carefully, he slid one of the rings out of the chain, looking at it for a moment before sliding it onto his finger.

"Phil?" Clint looked up, blinking.

"There's no point in secrecy anymore, is there?" Coulson lifted his hand to brush it along the side of Clint's face. "Unlike you, jewelry on my hand isn't going to interfere with my work. It's about time it takes its rightful place."

"You're married." The words were out of Steve's mouth before he could stop them, even though this was not about him in any way. "The two of you."

Slowly, Coulson turned his head, looking up at him with utmost seriousness. "Yes, we are." His hand remained on Clint's cheek. "Is that a problem, Captain?" Though his eyes were on the two, he felt the others looking at him, all waiting for his response.

"Should it be?" Steve found a smile rising to his lips, unbidden. However much he might have missed the old days in some ways, there were other aspects of the old world that he was quite glad to see disappearing into history books. "I'm merely happy that you two are finally together again."

"Fury knew about this." There was no question in Bruce's voice, just a hint of barely contained anger. Steve tried not to shiver at the sound of it. "He must have known, yet he wouldn't tell even you."

"A man in his position must often consider the ends before the means." Coulson sighed. "On one of the rare occasions he ever spoke about you, he told me you drifted apart again after the battle, and he feared that revealing that I was alive would be the final push for the team to break. He kept saying I could go once I had recovered, but since I'm still too weak for field work, it was all the same for me to remain hidden."

"And your husband's mourning was worth nothing?"

"Apparently, because he had already felt the grief once, it wouldn't do much difference if he didn't find out the truth just yet." Coulson's jaw tightened. "It took me quite a while to convince him to let me have an Internet connection, and that was monitored, of course. Fortunately, I recalled the code phrase we had agreed on with Mr. Stark."

"You're here now." Clint took the chain with its remaining ring, closing the clasp behind his neck again, and Steve's eyes spied a slight tremble in his fingers. "That's what matters. You're here and you're not going anywhere."

"Absolutely nowhere." He sighed. "I just hope the Director doesn't give you too much trouble for this."

"Oh, he was absolutely furious," Tony's all too amused voice lilted from the corridor. "Especially when I told him I was stealing both his best agent and his Avengers. Which I'm doing, by the way, you're welcome you all, I can pretty much guarantee I'm less of a hardass than Fury." Tony's head peeked into the room, his amused expression then turning into one of mild surprise as he took in Clint's position, still kneeling in front of Coulson, whose hand was still caressing the side of his face. "Well, fuck me sideways and call me Shirley."

"Interesting though your kinks are, I think I'll pass." Natasha smirked. "So, you actually told Fury you're taking over?" 

"Well, yeah, so if any of you would rather work for Fury, this would be an ideal time to tell before anything's actually put to paper." He stepped into the room, raising his eyebrow. "I did wonder why Barton volunteered to keep an eye on you. Well, I suppose this means you'll be staying in his room even when you're feeling better?"

"That would be quite preferable, yes." Coulson's expression was the epitome of calm. "I know I have ignored quite a few of the Director's less than admirable methods over the years, but letting my husband believe I was dead for months is a step too far."

"So you were why he said he was a widower." Tony nodded in understanding, the surprise gone from his face. Somehow Steve got the feeling he hadn't been entirely unprepared for the news. "So everyone on board with Avengers as funded by Tony Stark? Because I'm going to go order post-mission food now and I'd feel kinda weird feeding a SHIELD mole or something."

"I think after this latest lie all of us will be quite happy to be done with SHIELD, provided they're not going to come after us." Bruce shifted a bit uncomfortably. "I never wanted to work with them in the first place. And, well, with everyone here, the other guy and I can actually do some good."

"I'd say the three of us are pretty much done being manipulated as well." Natasha glanced at Clint and Coulson, then at Steve. "Cap?"

He hesitated, though only for a second. On one hand, he was a soldier, had been for ages. On the other hand… "A soldier following orders is only as good as the man giving them," he said quietly. "If I am to be a weapon, I'd rather have a say in what I'm aimed at."

"That's my man." Tony gave them all a wide grin. "So, pizza good for everyone?"

And so the Avengers were stolen from SHIELD with promises of pizza.

*

Tony was not exactly surprised to find Bruce falling into step with him as he headed back out of the room, ostensibly to help him get drinks for everyone. They walked down the corridor while Tony used Jarvis to order the pizza, in quantities hopefully sufficient to feed a superhero team. Of course, none of them could quite match Steve's metabolism, but after a mission everyone was always hungry, especially his absolutely awesome science bro. Apparently turning into a huge green rage monster took a lot out of a guy. Who knew?

"So," Bruce said as Tony was done with his call and they stepped into the elevator. "What was that so-called surprise in there?"

"What do you mean, so-called?" Tony scoffed. "I'll have you know that was some grade A surprise right there. Everything I produce is excellent, you should know this by now, and emotional responses are no lower on the production importance scale than tangible objects. Really, Bruce baby, I'm hurt by your callousness."

"Very funny." Bruce rolled his eyes, and honestly, he called this man a friend? His friends were assholes. "I'm willing to accept some of that was genuine, but definitely not all of it. You recovered far too quickly, and even managed to contain yourself from making any stupid comments."

"So the only way I could avoid making potentially hurtful comments is preparing myself beforehand? Gee, thanks for not thinking I qualify for the base standards of a decent human being. See if I trust you with my health and well-being ever again."

"Let's not get into a talk about your health and well-being or we'll have to conclude you have to be locked up for your own good." Yeah, definitely asshole friends. "You knew beforehand, didn't you? About Clint and Coulson."

"Hey, didn't see you keeling over in surprise, either." Tony shrugged. "Yeah, I knew. Well, more or less. There was genuine surprise there, mind; I didn't expect them to be so open about it. I mean, I was in pretty frequent contact with Agent for a year before the Loki incident and I didn't even know he was involved with anyone. Wasn't exactly expecting them to be broadcasting their marriage everywhere." He wasn't even nearly as inattentive as people thought he was, honestly, it was just a very easy way to mess with them. Only an absolute idiot would have ignored his main SHIELD liaison badly enough not to even know his name.

"You knew they were married, though." It wasn't a question.

"I sorta pieced it together, yeah." He leaned against the wall of the elevator. "Not that Hawkass ever actually said it, hell, he never even said he and Agent had been a thing. But, well, the clues piled up. Cap said Clint knew Coulson's mom pretty well, had some of his childhood photos, even got the stupid cards from Fury. Wasn't that hard to figure out what was going on when he told me he was widowed."

"Right." Bruce nodded. "I can't believe Fury did that."

"Oh, I can believe it very easily." Tony's lips twitched, not that he felt like smiling. "Fury is a lying liar who lies, news at eleven. I'm not entirely sure there's anything he wouldn't do if he believed it was for a greater cause. Which is a very effective way of thinking, I'll admit, and probably necessary for him to do his job, but it's not something I want to associate myself with. You know, with me being all responsible and shit."

"You really shouldn't talk about responsibility." Bruce snorted, but he was smiling. "I'm just glad we managed to find Coulson."

"As am I. Merida can stop sulking, we've got Agent Agent back, and I got to laugh in Fury's face. Boom! Three birds with one stone. Now we get beer and pizza and this day will be officially rated awesome."

"So if you weren't surprised, why did you try to make it look like you were?"

"Point one, I was," Tony replied as the elevator finally arrived at the penthouse, striding out as soon as the doors opened, Bruce following him. "Maybe not as much as I let it seem like, but I was pretty surprised anyway to see them being open, like I said. And point two, I figured it wouldn't be nice to let poor Captain feel like the only ignorant one. I mean, it was pretty obvious that both you and your girl knew, so he would have been all alone in his cluelessness." Bruce opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Tony held up a hand to silence him. "Oh, don't bother. The only reason she's not your girl is because you haven't actually bothered to ask her out."

"Like she would be interested." And honestly, he knew Bruce had those cute glasses and all, but was he actually that blind?

"Really? Bruce, my sweet green snuggle bunny, Jarvis has confided in me that she takes naps in your lab. The super assassin who never ever trusts anyone, probably not even herself, takes naps. In the lab of the green rage monster. Like that's a safe place. Pretty sure she couldn't be more obvious if she thrust her crotch into your face and held a gun to your head until you started licking."

"That's just unnecessarily crass, Tony." Aww, Bruce was blushing. Honestly, he was blushing like a little kid! Or like Steve, either worked. So cute.

"Hey, if I wasn't so very attached to various body parts, I'd suggest to her that she do just that. It's not like you're going to take the hint otherwise." Tony patted Bruce's shoulder. "But hey, that's fine, dear science bro of mine. The longer it takes you to get around to actually charming the charming lady, the longer I have you all to myself. Not to say I don't want to see you happy and stuff, I'm all for that, but since you're being obtuse anyway, I can just as well reap the benefits of it."

"It's not that simple, Tony."

"Darling, if relationships were simple, I wouldn't be woefully single." Tony paused. "Okay, maybe I would be, because we both know how well I do even with the simple stuff when it comes to social relations, but hey, that's just sunny ol' me with my chronic inability to be good people toward anyone who isn't called Anthony Edward Stark." And hey, funny thing, not even he was called that by anyone who mattered.

"You're selling yourself short again." There was a strange, soft tone to Bruce's voice.

"Who better to know my true value?" Tony gave him a lopsided grin. "But, hey, I won't push you, mostly because I know how damn hypocritical it is of me to be offering relationship advice. That, and Natasha would probably kill me for butting into her business even indirectly, and however lovely those thighs of death are I'd rather not be in the receiving end of that. But at least give it some thought, okay?"

He chose to take Bruce's somewhat exasperated huff as agreement, because it was certainly going to be the closest he got to that.

*

It was still slightly surreal, the whole rescue and being brought to Stark Tower by a bunch of superheroes who seemed more concerned with his safety than the possible consequences of angering SHIELD. Clint being reckless for his sake was only to be expected, of course, and he might have even called Natasha's behavior, but to have Tony Stark, Doctor Banner and even Captain America rush to his aid had definitely had a somewhat dreamlike quality.

Captain America had come to his rescue, just like in his most outrageous five-year-old fantasies. If he hadn't been so weary, Phil might have squealed just a little. As it was, he hid a smile in Clint's hair, holding him close.

Clint had been drifting in and out of consciousness since the impromptu pizza party, clinging close to him as he slept. He'd chalked it up to exhaustion after the tension of a mission at first; Clint had always slept best after a difficult operation. However, as evening had turned into night and that had become morning again, he was starting to worry a little.

"How much has he been sleeping?" Phil asked as Captain strode into the living room where Phil was seated on the couch right where Clint had helped him before promptly falling asleep against his shoulder. "This is quite unusual for Clint."

"Not as much as he should have, I'm afraid." The Captain almost looked apologetic. "Miss Natasha says he hadn't been doing that well even before, but ever since Tony got the hint that you might be alive, he's been even worse. It took us a few days to confirm everything and come up with a plan, and I'm not sure he's had more than a few cat naps in all that time."

"Right." Phil adjusted the arm he had around Clint's shoulders. It felt so good, having his husband back again. "I wish I could have gotten the word out sooner."

"It's not your fault." The Captain shook his head. "You're still injured; there was no way you could have contacted us while you were still monitored and restricted. I'm sure Clint would rather have waited to have you back, however painful it may have been, than have you injure yourself even worse while trying to get out by yourself."

"I did technically die, Captain. Not sure there's much room to get injured worse than that."

"Please, just Steve is fine." The Captain gave him a smile that was almost shy. "I'm only Captain on the field. It's not like Tony is Iron Man back here, either."

"Right. Steve." Phil nodded. "That might take me a while to get used to."

"That's fine." Captain — Steve — nodded. "Ah, what should I call you? I mean, Tony keeps insisting you're Agent Agent, but that somehow doesn't seem appropriate."

He actually gave a brief laugh at that. "Phil is fine," he assured Steve. "Stark is… special."

"That's one way to put it." Steve's smile turned wry. "Tony is not the easiest of people to deal with."

"Hey!" An indignant voice from the doorway drew both of their attention. Stark was standing there, still in the same t-shirt and jeans as the night before, hair tousled and a smear of oil on his cheek. There was a slightly wild look in his eyes. "I resemble that remark."

"Tony?" Steve frowned. "Have you had any sleep?"

"Nope!" Stark seemed almost cheerful in admitting this. "Been busy, keeping busy, you know how it is. Oh, and you lot shouldn't be sleeping much longer, either." He glanced at Clint at Phil's side. "We're about to have guests."

"Guests?" Phil frowned. Somehow, he didn't like the sound of that.

"Seems Fury and his entourage are about five minutes out. So, get everyone who might be interested out of bed."

"Wait. Fury's coming here?" Now it was Steve who frowned. "And you're just, what, letting him walk in?"

"Well, we're not actually at war here," Stark replied, spreading his hands. "But, hey, I can lock him out if you want. My security can handle a SHIELD agent or two. I just thought Agent here might want a word with him after everything."

"We can't allow that! He's barely well enough to sit up as it is!"

"Yeah, well, I really don't think it'd be in my best interests to set any kind of precedent implying that someone who is injured is not capable of making decisions for himself." Well, at least he had that much self-awareness. "So, Agent? You up for visitors?"

To be honest, no, he wasn't. All he wanted to do was curl up with Clint and try to forget the world and all his aches for a few days at least. However, he knew better than to expect that to be an actual option, certainly not when Nick was in question, so he nodded. "I'm fine with that."

"Excellent. While I'm sure I could keep Fury out, I'd rather not invite any actual damage to the structural integrity of the Tower." Stark paused. "Well, not any more of it. Oh, and you might want to wake up your hubby. I'm going to make some coffee."

Shaking Clint awake was somewhat more difficult than usual, though the moment his half-awake ears caught the word "Fury", he was up and alert, glancing around warily. The rest of the Avengers converged surprisingly fast as well. Natasha appeared in her field uniform, appearing ready for anything despite the early hour, while Doctor Banner shuffled into the room in sweatpants and a t-shirt yet somehow managed to radiate an air of danger. Though Natasha was the only one of them not in casual clothes, Phil could practically feel the way they were all tuned to active mode, tension filling the air as they settled around him like guards. He had never been more vulnerable, yet, in a bizarre way, he wasn't sure he had ever felt safer before, Clint's arm at his waist and the Avengers around them, ready to face the danger.

Fury marched right to the living room, likely led by Jarvis. Maria and Jasper were trailing along after him, and though Maria disguised it better, they both seemed shocked to actually see him there. That was a relief, however small. He would have hated to realize that all his friends had been guilty of prolonging Clint's pain.

"Nicholas." Phil didn't even try to stand, too weary for that. Besides, right now he didn't think he owed Nick such courtesy. "This is an unexpected visit to say the least."

"You expect to be able to coordinate a raid on a SHIELD facility and not get a visit from me? I thought you knew me better than that." Nick raised his eyebrows.

"To be fair, Director, I had no part in either planning or executing the mission. I'll admit I did not resist my extraction, but I had no active part in the proceedings."

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't. Yet somehow their attack comes only a week after you were first given online access outside the base. Forgive me if I do not find that entirely coincidental."

"All I did was leave a sign that I may not have perished after all. Given that I had a husband in mourning, I refuse to accept any blame for that." He felt Clint tense at his side, and set a hand on his thigh, reassuring. He wasn't going anywhere.

"I did what I had to do." Of course. Nick always had his reasons, even when they were bad reasons.

"I know you did. However, you continued with the ruse long past when it was necessary, causing much more pain than could have possibly been called for." His eyes narrowed. "You gave him ashes, Nick. What the fuck were you thinking?"

Maria shifted a bit, and Jasper looked surprised at his choice of words. He even heard Steve shifting to the side. Nick, however, met his gaze steadily. "So what is it you plan to do now, then?" Nice sidestepping of the question there. "Play along with Stark and his pretend Avengers?"

"At the moment? Yes, that is exactly what I plan to do." Phil nodded. "From what I have seen, they make quite the fine team. And they will need my talents if they wish to become an even better one."

"So this is it, then?" Nick looked at him seriously. "Twenty years of friendship and you throw all that out the window just like that?"

Oh, yes. All those years of friendship, of trusting each other, having each other's backs. Nick had saved his life more times than Phil could count, and Phil had saved his. Nick had stood as a witness at his wedding, had taken him drinking to celebrate the end of DADT, had stuck with him through everything. And then he had done this.

"Oh, you are my friend, Nick, my oldest and dearest one," Phil admitted, his tone quiet. "After letting my husband believe I was dead for months, though? That fact is the only reason you're walking out of here alive." It was not a threat, of course. He did not make idle threats. Had anyone but Nick been the one responsible for the deception, he would have ended them.

Maria made to step forward, an affronted look on her face, but a brief gesture from Nick made her stop. "Very well." The one-eyed stare might have been unnerving to some, but Phil had long since become accustomed to it. "I will be in touch for the practicalities."

"And what exactly makes you think we want anything to do with you?" Stark's voice was sharp, and for once Phil suspected he was voicing the thoughts of everyone in the room.

"Oh, nothing. Except for the fact that unless you get the cooperation of either SHIELD or the WSC directly, you're little more than a group of vigilantes, and I'd really hate to hunt you down for domestic terrorism or something similarly idiotic." Nick sneered. "And believe me, however little you may like me, you would enjoy dealing with the Council even less."

"Hey, they're the ones who threw a nuke at us. I never thought for a moment I'd enjoy any direct dealings with them." Stark toasted with his cup of coffee — the third one since his appearance this morning, by Phil's count. Unless he'd had a few more in the kitchen where he couldn't see it. "But hey, sure, I can deal with that. Just don't expect me to believe anything you say."

"I can handle it." It wouldn't be pleasant, Phil suspected, and certainly not without tension, but it was still far preferable to letting Stark make a mess out of everything. "Just know that simply cooperating will not make me forgive you, Nick."

"Perhaps I will find something else that will." And the strange thing was, Nick seemed almost sincere. Like it actually mattered to him whether Phil forgave him for his little stunt.

"Oh, sure." Clint snorted. "You make sure to tell us when someone who was actually dead returns, and we might discuss forgiveness."

"I shall keep that in mind." Nick let his gaze sweep over the group, each at a time, and then settled on Phil again. "I suppose I know where I can reach you, now."

"I'd imagine that is evident, yes." Phil nodded. "For now, is there anything else? I'd very much like to get back to convincing my husband that I am truly alive and yesterday wasn't some bizarre dream." Clint drew him a bit closer, and Stark made a small, choked sound that could only mean his mind had found some imagined double meaning in the statement. Phil didn't care. All he was concerned about was chasing that haunted look out of Clint's eyes.

"That's all for now." Nick met his eyes, steady as ever, before his eye flickered down to the hand resting on Clint's thigh, and the ring glistening there. "I guess I'll wish you a speedy recovery."

"Jarvis will see you out." Stark sounded all too gleeful to be stating this. "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out!"

"Tony," Steve murmured, but failed to sound too reproachful. Evidently he wasn't too fond of authorities using deceit to achieve their goals.

Phil watched as Nick turned away, Maria and Jasper following after casting concerned glances at him. Phil gave them both what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then waited until Nick was at the doorway before speaking up. "Oh, and Nick?"

"Yes?" He didn't turn around.

"I do believe you owe me a full set of Captain America trading cards."

He could have sworn he saw Maria shudder at that.

*

There was someone warm in the bed with him.

Clint took a moment to cherish this simple fact, burrowing his nose into the nape of Phil's neck. His hair had gotten a bit longer than he usually liked, and it didn't smell quite the same it used to, but it was still undeniably Phil. Clint would just have to get some of his favorite shampoo again, and it would all be perfect.

He let his hand caress Phil's side underneath the covers, slow and careful, not wanting to jar any potential sore spots. He could count the ribs by sliding his fingers over them, tracing the skin with care, still working on memorizing all the minute changes to the familiar form. Before long, he was sure, he would know Phil by heart like he had never been away, know every dip and crease and smooth expanse of skin like it was his own. It might take a moment, but he knew he would get there, as well as greatly enjoy his hard work of relearning him.

His touch was sensual, the way a lover's caress tended to be, though not intended to arouse. Phil needed his sleep, and even if that hadn't been the case, Clint knew very well he was too weak and badly hurt for anything physically straining. Clint might have taken risks with his own health, did do so more often than not, but he would have never jeopardized Phil's recovery like that.

At last he let his hand come to a rest, having convinced himself for now that Phil was here, he was here and not going anywhere. Clint plastered himself along his back, now, careful not to crowd in too close and possibly aggravate the site of the wound, but close enough to feel the heat of his skin, the minute movements of his chest as he breathed. Closing his eyes, Clint allowed himself to fall into the same rhythm as Phil, mirroring even the slightest movements of his body with ease that grew from years of familiarity.

It was because of this that he noticed the change as soon as it happened.

"Jarvis?" he bit out as he scrambled up to his knees, fighting against panic as his hands ran over Phil's body, feeling for any further changes. "Jarvis, get me Tony or — just get me someone, now!"

Perhaps sensing the panic in his voice, or simply noticing the same thing he had, the AI did not waste any time. Mere seconds later, he heard Tony's voice through the speakers.

"Barton? I hope you have a damn good reason to wake me up, I actually was asleep and that's rare, you should ask Pepper to explain to you just how unusual it is I sleep at night but really you should know that by now —"

"Tony?" And his voice wasn't shaking, no it wasn't, it couldn't be. He was calm, he had to be calm, he couldn't panic or oh god, no panic no panic please god no. "Tony, Phil's not breathing."


	6. We Wish You a Fury Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil is, thankfully, fine, though few still agree with Fury's methods. After this, the Avengers deal with the holidays, starting with Thanksgiving, with a lot to feel grateful for. Pepper and Steve both realize new things about Tony, Natasha has to be the voice of reason more than once, and Bruce comes to a realization of his own. And in the end, Tony actually gets a pleasant Christmas surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is something of a breather episode to make up for the cliffhanger last time. Nobody gets hurt, not badly anyway, and there's positive feelings all around.
> 
> Of course, next chapter everything's going to go to Hell, but that's just more of a reason to have a breather now.

Phil's heartbeat was steady under his hand.

Clint breathed in deep, held his breath for a moment, then released it. There was no other sound in the silence besides their combined breaths. Even the house itself seemed to have fallen silent, the ever-present sounds of the air conditioning and Tony's endless technological marvels absent. Nevertheless, Clint knew that the moment he asked for him, or something happened that he should know about, Jarvis would speak as needed.

At first he had found it creepy, the idea of something watching him with hidden eyes, hearing everything even when he was told not to listen. Sure, he knew Jarvis would not betray confidence even to Tony, not unless Jarvis himself found it absolutely necessary, and over the months he'd spent in the Tower had even come to appreciate his constant ally in navigating the details of social relationships. However, not even his growing familiarity with the invisible presence had been able to convince him of the benefits of this as much as the one moment when he had needed Jarvis the most.

Clint was a spy and an assassin, had been one for more years than he cared to count. He worked for one of the most furtive organizations in his area of the globe, and probably had more people who had sworn to kill him personally than most people over twenty-five had friends on the latest social networking site. Nevertheless, never had he appreciated good, old-fashioned paranoia as when he asked Tony for help and heard that a full highly-trained medical team had been placed in the tower before Phil had even arrived, already on their way. It hadn't been until later that he'd thought to question this, asking himself just how much Tony had known about Phil's actual physical condition.

More than Phil himself, that was for certain. From what little actual discussion they had managed to have aside from general sappiness and expressions of mutual relief, Phil had been under the impression that most of his remaining weakness was the result of nothing more sinister than spending the last half a year in bed. However, judging by the comments of Tony's medical team, his body was still screwed up seven ways from Sunday, especially from the inside. The shortness of breath wasn't from being unused to walking around, it was due to scar tissue constricting his lungs. His heart beating abnormally fast wasn't the sign of over-exertion, it just had to work that much harder all the time just to keep his blood flowing. A large wound right through the chest. He was miraculously lucky to still be alive, even before the heart attack.

Heart attack. After everything they'd been through together, all the firefights and secret missions and the countless times they had saved each other's lives over the years in increasingly unlikely situations, he had almost lost Phil to a fucking heart attack. They didn't get heart attacks, those were for old men out of shape and out of luck.

Except Phil was not a young man anymore, nor was he fit or healthy. Phil was hurt and broken and in so much pain, probably more than he had even told Clint, not wanting to worry him, the idiot. As though he would worry any less when it came as a shock. Though then, Phil hadn't known the details himself, either. He'd thought he was just out of shape, would get back to normal soon enough. Now, the doctors doubted he'd ever recover enough to be fit for anything resembling field duty. Whatever statements Fury had made to the contrary, promises of recovery and physical therapy and gradual adjustments, had been nothing but lies.

Fury had lied to Phil. Even worse, Phil hadn't realized it. If Clint had ever doubted that Loki had fucked up their lives beyond belief — not that he ever had, not for a moment — that would have been enough proof on its own.

He was here now, though. The medical team was still on standby, would probably be for much longer than strictly necessary, if he knew Tony at all. Phil, however, was lying in bed with nobody but Clint and Jarvis keeping their eyes on him, his chest rising and falling underneath his hand. The others had made their visits, had reassured themselves of his presence, still, but in the end none had suggested to remain with them. He knew they would have if he'd asked, suspected some had thought of doing so anyway, but in the end he had been left alone with Phil. Some small, pathetic part of him was grateful for it, just as he was grateful for the fact that he knew help would be at hand if he were to need it.

For now, all he needed was this moment, the opportunity to assure himself that Phil was here, Phil was fine, Phil was not going anywhere no matter how much he might have feared otherwise. He didn't want the others here for this, not now. The only ones he needed at his side right now were Phil, his heartbeat more thrilling than any thrum of a bow string had ever been underneath Clint's calloused hand, and the watchful eyes of Jarvis, always there even if Clint were to fall asleep to the lullaby of Phil's breathing.

Nobody else needed to see any more of his crying.

*

"You knew about this."

The look on Fury's face betrayed no reaction, which in itself was enough of an indication that he knew exactly what Tony was talking about. "Knew about what, Stark?"

"About Agent. You knew he was still on the verge of collapse."

"I hardly see how that's any of my business. Obviously, that's the job of his doctors to determine."

"You didn't let us know, though." There was a sharp tone to Tony's voice. For all that he spoke of Fury's lies, this had obviously been a betrayal he hadn't expected. "Hell, you didn't even let the man himself know! He was convinced all he had to do in the way of recovery was regain his strength!"

"Which was not untrue." Ah, Fury and his words. "All I stayed silent about was just how far his strength had waned. If he'd stayed put instead of rushing off with devil knows who, none of this would have happened."

"Well, maybe if you'd kept him informed, he wouldn't have needed to!" Tony slammed his hand against something, his desk by the sound of it. "You didn't even let the man know if his fucking husband was still alive! What did you think he was going to do, smile and sit still until you saw it fit to give him more information?"

"I thought he would trust his superior. Obviously, I was wrong."

"Obviously, he would have been wrong to trust you." Tony's voice took on a chilling tone. "Is that why you didn't tell him about Clint, or Clint about him? Because you couldn't guarantee that he'd survive yet?"

"I saw what Barton was like after his presumed death." Ah, yes. Always calculating everything to the utmost advantage. "If I had given his husband back, only to have him snatched away, he would have broken for good."

"Because he was so much better now," Tony snarled. "Hell, maybe if you'd actually let Phil come home, he would have recovered faster than this! And none of that, absolutely none of that excuses not telling us about the risk."

"You seemed to assume you had everything under control. Who was I to disabuse you of that notion?"

"I knew you were a bastard, but that's low even for you. You'd let your presumed friend die just to get back at me for messing with your plans?"

"And what good would it have done if I had told you?" Fury's tone still didn't waver. "If I had given you the information, you'd have thought I was lying, or making excuses. I weighed my chances and figured you would have medical staff on hand just in case regardless of his reported condition." Finally, there was a hint of a smirk to his voice as he added, "And what do you know, I was right."

"You're a bastard, Fury. You know that, right?" Tony barked a laugh. "Oh, of course you know that. You know everything, after all, and always better than anyone else."

"It rather comes with the territory." Fury paused for a moment. "I presume he survived the ordeal?"

"No thanks to you, but yeah, he did." Tony huffed. "Robin Hood hasn't left his side since, not that I blame him. Phil's still even set on handling those ownership negotiations all by himself, though obviously it'll be a little while until he's well enough to get started." He paused before adding, "Of course, that's partly because Clint would insist on being there and seeing your ugly mug just might make him fly into a protective rage."

"Well, I never expected it to be an easy process anyway," Fury remarked with a wry tone. "There are surprisingly many legal hoops to make sure you aren't considered a vigilante group, and cutting off SHIELD's backing causes even more."

"Yeah, yeah, we got the point, Papa wolf. The point here is, should we expect some more surprises? Maybe a literal time bomb hidden behind his ribs?"

"I do hope that would have shown up in the examinations at some point."

"You know damn well that's not what I mean."

"You use the word literal, you'd better expect a literal answer, Stark." There was the faintest sign of a sigh from Fury. "Aside from the fact that his system is still fucked up? There shouldn't be anything your doctors can't detect, no. That doesn't mean I can guarantee his survival."

"If you could, would you have told us?" Tony's voice was more serious than perhaps expected. "That he was alive?"

"Believe it or not, Stark, I do consider him a friend." Fury's tone was as sincere as it had perhaps ever been. "I figured if things got more fucked up at some point, it'd be enough if I was the only one who had to lose him twice."

"And yet it was your decision that made him want out, and almost killed him." And strangely, there wasn't that much accusation in the words anymore. "Strange. It's almost as though you can't foresee everything after all."

"It's hard to see when my one good eye is broken." Fury sighed again. "Is that enough blackmail material for now? Unlike some, I do have an actual job to do."

"Wow, you sound almost like Pepper. Except for the part where she's beautiful, charming, witty, and competent."

"Very funny, Stark." The call was shut off, only the faintest lack of sound marking its end.

"I thought it was funny," Tony murmured, his voice coming closer along with the sound of footsteps. "It was funny, right?"

"Perhaps more insulting than amusing," Phil replied as Tony finally walked around the corner, safely out of sight of his video call equipment. "Which might explain why the good director was not particularly happy."

"Hey, he can't blame me. Obviously I'm going to prefer Pepper over him." Tony deftly took control of Phil's wheelchair, pushing him along the corridor. "So, was that what you expected to hear?"

"More or less what I expected to be the answer, yes." Which had been something of a relief, to be honest. At least he apparently still knew his friend well enough to read his motivations. "I didn't entirely expect him to speak so frankly to you, though."

"He probably figured I'd just keep bugging him until he gave in if he didn't tell me something at least resembling the truth." Tony chuckled. "Pepper has said my personality should be described as weapon-grade."

"I'm not entirely sure I disagree." Phil found his lips twitching. "You do have a certain… well, I'm not entirely sure 'charm' is the right word here."

"Says the guy who threatened to pull a tazer on me." And yet here Tony was, quite happy to push him along the corridors of his own home. "Anyway, I'd better get you back to Hawkass and fast. He seemed antsy about me borrowing you even though he didn't even know about the calling Fury part."

"And we'd probably best not to tell him about that, right?" Clint had done more than enough worrying for a while. It was about time he got a break.

"I absolutely agree." Tony's grin was well audible in his voice. "If he asks, I tried to get you to help me with Pepper's Christmas gift."

Phil raised his eyebrows. "Is that something you actually require help with?" Because he had heard things about Tony's questionable gifting prowess from Pepper herself.

"Eh." Tony waved a hand. "I've still got over a month, right? I'm sure I'll think of something."

"Right." Phil wasn't sure he was equally confident.

At least he would be around to see the outcome.

*

"So." There was a gleam in Stark's eyes that couldn't promise anything good as he paced around the kitchen, all nervous energy and twisted ideas, only pausing every now and then to take a sip of his coffee. As though he needed more caffeine. "I say we prepare a feast in the good agent's honor."

"A feast? What are you, a Viking?" Natasha raised her eyebrows, leaning against a counter.

"Well, since Thor isn't here, someone has to keep up the good Asgardian traditions." Stark gave her an innocent look. She had to give it to him, it might have actually deceived a total idiot. Too bad she was far from being one.

"When did you even have time to learn about Asgardian traditions? Far as I know, the total time you have ever spent with Thor is counted in hours and consists mostly of fighting for our lives."

"There was the shawarma place afterward. I know everyone was mostly trying not to fall asleep on their plates, but Thor and I did have a short talk on what they do to celebrate." Stark paused. "You know, come to think of it, they probably would have some sort of tradition for how to celebrate someone coming back from the dead."

"I wouldn't be surprised." Her lips twitched. Stark was eager like a kid on Christmas. From what she'd heard from Pepper and observed during her time around him, this was rather normal for him when he got enthusiastic about something. Well, at least she didn't have to wonder if he was happy about having Coulson back.

"Maybe a roast boar. What do you think, does this seem like a boar occasion? Roasted whole, of course, I'm sure I can track down someone selling boars. That'd be just all kinds of awesome. I've always wanted to eat wild boar."

Natasha sighed. Good thing she'd decided to keep an eye on him. "No boars, Stark."

"No?" Stark blinked as though surprised anyone would ever disagree with him. "Fine, no boars. How about a pig? Roast pig is just as good, and probably easier to get. It should be feast-like enough to celebrate."

"No pigs, either." Natasha resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. "If it's supposed to be a party for Coulson, it's only basic decency to have things that he can eat."

"Oh?" Stark frowned, looking puzzled. "Agent have something against pigs?"

"I'm sure he thinks pigs are just delightful animals. However, he prefers not to eat them." As the so-called genius still gave her a confused look, she sighed. "He's Jewish, Stark. Not the most observant one I've ever met, true, but he does try to keep kosher when possible. That means no roast pigs, no shrimp coctails, and no cheeseburgers. Understood?" She sighed. "I know this isn't a new concept to you, Stark. Clint's been living here for a while now, you should know this." Even if Clint was less than strict about following the rules, he did make an effort every now and then.

"Right. Got it." Stark grinned at her. Well, at least he was genuinely trying. "Hey, I know. Let's have lots of bacon. Everyone loves bacon!"

Some day, Natasha mused, someone would beat Stark over the head with his own ignorance. That day, she intended to be present.

She would even bring her own popcorn.

*

"Do you think we have enough food?"

Steve blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." Tony wrung his hands in a manner that would have seemed nervous if not for the sharp gleam in his eyes, which turned the impression more into that of too much energy to be contained in his body. "I mean, I know there's still going to be the turkey, assuming Bruce can pull it off, but we've got some big eaters here, right? I paid the shawarma bill, I know how much this team can put away. Of course, Thor's not here, but we do have Phil and Pepper, and Phil's recovering, too, so he'll need a lot of food —"

"Tony, you can't be serious," Steve cut in. "I was just wondering how on earth we're going to eat all this." He waved his hand at everything packed onto the large dinner table. The smell of turkey was wafting in from the direction of the kitchen, with one of Tony's robots — Dummy, if he recalled right — peeking in as though to see if it was time for his waiter duties yet. He knew for a fact that there was even more waiting, dessert and snacks and drinks, certainly more than could ever be reasonable for seven people, however athletic some of them may have been. "I mean, I know it's a party, but still —"

"Ah, but there you are wrong, my good Captain." Tony got a slightly manic grin on his face. "It's not just a party, it's a double party! Thanksgiving and welcoming our Agent rolled in one. I've got to say, it was pretty smart of Natasha to think of that. I didn't even remember it's almost Thanksgiving, and I'm the American one! Well, out of the two of us, obviously everyone else is, too, and I'm pretty sure she's got at least three American passports, but it's the thought that counts, you know?"

"You know that's not what I meant." Steve sighed. "It's just — this seems kind of like a waste."

"Yes, well, I guess it would to you. I mean, this is your first Thanksgiving since the war, right? And I get that, I do. But I'm sure it'll all get eaten soon enough, as leftovers if nothing else."

"There's only so much people will eat as leftovers before they get sick of always eating the same thing." That much at least he had learned about the modern world. People could afford to get sick of eating something, because they didn't have to hunt for every last scrap. "And — you're still worried about not having enough."

For a moment, Tony was silent, and Steve almost thought he was just going to ignore him. Finally, though, Tony spoke, his tone so light it had to be fake. "Hey, can I tell you a secret, Cap?"

Steve blinked, surprised. "A secret?"

"Yeah. Something I've never actually said aloud to anyone, not even Pepper or Rhodey." Tony turned to look at him, and the mad glint had been replaced by a surprisingly serious look. "This is the first time I've actually looked forward to a Thanksgiving dinner."

That was… not what he had expected. "What?"

"Yeah. Pathetic, isn't it?" Tony made a face. "I mean, obviously there was the time when I was too little to know better, but that hardly counts. But, really. Thanksgiving has always been too much formality and trying to catch my father's attention, or being one of the very few staying behind at the boarding school, or later just getting drunk because why the fuck would I celebrate a family holiday without a family? Even with Pepper we were too busy, and really it would have been silly to put that much fuss into it when it was just the two of us."

"But now it's different." Steve hesitated, not sure if he should have made his statement more like a question.

"Yes, it is." Tony nodded, absolutely serious. "I actually want to do this, Cap. I want to sit down for once, eat until I can't fit another bite, and talk with a table full of people I actually give a shit about. Except I've no idea how to do it right. All I know about happy family holidays is that you're supposed to have the table full, and that much, I can provide." He shrugged. "I'm just counting on the rest of you taking care of the whole 'family' part."

"Right." He should have said something, Steve knew that, but at the moment, he was at a loss for words. It made him feel bad, not being able to reassure Tony somehow, to tell him it'd be great, everything was going to be just fine.

Just then, though, Clint and Phil appeared into the dining room, Phil still stuck in a wheelchair to avoid straining himself, Clint at his heels like a loyal watchdog. Tony turned to them, a bright grin on his face, and started going on about all the food, how Natasha had helped him pick the menu and how Bruce had insisted on taking care of the turkey, how Pepper was going to bring the wine so he knew it was going to be great, now if only Rhodey had been here it would have been absolutely perfect.

Bruce called out from the kitchen, wanting help with what Steve supposed was going to be the biggest turkey he had ever laid eyes on as Tony had handled all the acquisitions, and as Dummy rushed to help despite Tony's protests, Steve realized there was nothing he had to say.

He also realized, somewhat startled to do so, that for the first time since waking up, he felt actually, sincerely thankful to be here, in this time, with these people.

He supposed that was worth a party all in itself.

*

It hadn't been easy to make sure she could be there in time for the party, but Pepper was certainly glad she'd made the effort. Aside from finally being able to see Phil again, it was good to see how everyone in the team was starting to fit together with Tony. She'd already seen how easily she worked with Bruce, but this wasn't just him. Tony talked and joked and laughed, in the genuine way he usually reserved for her and Rhodey, even though the entire team was there, occupying various surfaces in the large living room now that they were done with dinner. More than that, the others worked with Tony, letting the almost incidental barbs slide without paying them much mind and playing along where it was appropriate. 

She wasn't sure she had ever seen Tony act so genuinely happy with anyone but herself and Rhodey.

"Oi, stop monopolizing Phil," Clint snapped half-heartedly as Tony offered to help Phil get some more to drink. "I can get him what he wants, thanks."

"Hey, calm down, Katniss. I was just trying to be nice," Tony protested, lifting his hands. "I just figured I'd try and be helpful since, you know, I can actually get to my feet."

"I didn't eat quite that much, thanks," Clint replied, heedless of the fact he seemed rather glued to his seat, curled up next to Phil. "It's bad enough you steal him away all the time."

"That was only once," Tony replied. "Okay, maybe twice, but still. You make it sound like I'm trying to spirit him away entirely or something."

"Is that true, Tony?" Pepper asked, trying to contain her amusement. Phil appeared to be feeling along the same lines, his eyes dancing as they met hers. "Have you been taking Phil away?"

"I told him, it was just once or twice," Tony said, his tone defensive. "And that was just because I wanted help with your Christmas present."

"Really?" Pepper blinked, surprised. "I thought you already had my present picked out. At least, you told me that way back." Not that it would be unheard of for Tony to change his mind all of a sudden.

"Is that so?" Clint shot Tony a sharp look. "Care to explain this flaw in your excuse, Mister Stark~?"

Tony squirmed like a kid caught lying. "Well, I did," he replied. "Have your present picked out, that is. I even ordered it, back then. Custom-made, so there was a waiting list, even for Tony Stark."

"Oh?" Pepper raised her eyebrows. "Then what did you need to steal Phil away for?"

"A number of reasons." Tony shrugged, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "The main one being that it didn't seem very appropriate to give you a ring, anymore."

Pepper froze, realizing the chatter around them had turned into silence as well. "What did you say?"

"I'm pretty sure you heard me." Tony took on a smirk, now, though there was a hurt edge to it, one that she knew, just knew, she had caused to be there. "I ordered you a ring before, well, before everything. I may not be an expert on romance, but I figured Christmas would be good enough an occasion, and as I said, there was a waiting list. But then things happened, and that didn't seem appropriate anymore."

"I'm sorry." And she was, though she was still not going to change her mind.

"Yeah, well, so am I. Yet here we are, both of us, so it can't have gone all that badly." The hurt was still there, but something in Tony's grin was more genuine, more real. "You can still have the ring when it's done, of course, not like I have anyone else to give it to not that that would be appropriate anyway, but in the meantime, I really need something else for a Christmas present."

"Well, you could just do what you've always done," she replied, and managed a smile. "Just give me a budget and let me take care of that."

"Oh, Pepper, my endless fount of caffeine, you always have the perfect solutions to my problems." Tony chuckled. "You wouldn't care to help me with figuring out Christmas presents for the rest of the team, would you?" Before she could respond, he blinked. "Wait, is that even appropriate? I mean, Christmas is kind of a Christian thing or something, Jarvis knows I don't give a damn but others might, would it be offensive to give Christmas gifts to everyone? Or would you guys prefer holiday gifts or something? Season's greetings?"

"Well, I only converted when I married Phil, so I've got a Christmas or two under my belt," Clint snorted. "Pretty sure I could handle the religious crisis, because I'm so good at this whole Jewish business."

"I have no particular objection either," Phil added, still looking amused. Pepper had to admit that Tony's frantic attempts at not being offensive were rather endearing. "Though if you wish, you could always give us presents for Hanukkah instead."

"I'm a godless communist, obviously," Natasha quipped, not pausing at her endless barrage of throwing marshmallows at Clint, who caught them in the air with equally little effort. "Doesn't mean I'm going to turn down any season-appropriate bribes if you insist on handing them out."

"Tentatively Buddhist," Bruce added, only lifting his hand a bit from where he had collapsed after making the trek from the dining room. "Equally open to religiously insensitively labeled offerings."

"Great! It's great how you're all so ready to tolerate my WASPy ass pushing my traditions on the rest of you," Tony said with a grin. "I mean, you're Catholic, right, Cap? I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere. So I'm the only one on the team fitting the label. See, I remember this stuff!"

"Yes, I am." Steve's lips twitched at Tony's enthusiasm. "I thought you weren't exactly religious, though?"

"Well, depends on your definition." Tony waved his hand. "I mean, maybe I should count myself as a pagan, since the only gods I've seen undeniable proof for are Norse, but that probably doesn't count. But I'm from a Protestant family so that counts. That counts, right?"

"It's close enough, I suppose," Pepper chuckled. "And I suppose I'll have to help you or it'll all end in tears one way or another. However," she replied before Tony could launch into too many thanks, "I'm not going to buy anything for you. I'll just help you come up with ideas, you're going to do the actual work yourself."

"You've become so cold, Pepper my dearest," Tony sighed. "So very heartless to my struggles. What did I ever do to deserve this?"

"Made me your CEO," she replied, her tone blight though she was smiling behind the cover of bringing her glass to her lips. "I spend too much time cleaning up your messes to do your legwork for you, too."

"Utterly heartless, I'm telling you." Tony shook his head mournfully. "What do you think, could Dummy and Scarecrow take care of the shopping if I sent them out together?"

Before Pepper could even mentally count all the ways this would be an extremely bad idea, Tony's friends were unanimously rushing to explain the same, along with some thinly-veiled threats as to exactly what would become of him and his private parts if he did something so idiotic. Clint loudly proclaimed that he would never allow Tony to put his little Scarecrow into such danger, while Natasha switched her marshmallow target from Clint to Tony.

It was, Pepper realized, all the proof she needed that Tony would, in the end, be just fine.

That was something she was quite ready to be thankful for.

*

There was a robot watching him work.

Of course, he supposed that was always the case, depending on one's classification of Jarvis. However, Tony generally preferred to set him aside from the actual robots, something about a physical presence and actual intelligence not being interchangeable, so that probably didn't count. This time, though, there was an actual robot there, head turned towards him, camera following his movements.

"Is there a reason you're here?" he asked at last, sighing a bit. "Should I be somewhere and you've been sent to get me?"

Scarecrow tilted its — her? — head a bit, then gave a beep that he could only interpret as negative. She didn't move from her perch on top of one of the shelf, though, spidery legs tucked partly under her main body.

"Then is there something you need? I know we haven't kitted you out with a lot of supplies yet, but have you run out of something?"

Another negative. Bruce was almost starting to feel foolish, talking to what was supposed to be an object, except he knew even the least advanced of Tony's robots could well understand spoken commands and act or respond accordingly. He sometimes wondered if Tony realized just how much that fact alone put him ahead of the rest of the world.

"Right." He shook his head in mild exasperation. "Well, sit there if you'd like, just don't get in the way."

Scarecrow chirped in what he supposed was an affirmative, curling her legs further under herself. Bruce gave her one last glance before returning to his experiment.

He wasn't entirely sure how much time had passed when he was next startled out of his work. At least he knew exactly what had done it; the footsteps were a clear change to the usual soundscape of his lab. A deliberate warning, he thought as he looked up and saw Natasha approaching. She didn't make that much noise just walking around unless she specifically chose to, but then, she always did make an effort not to startle him.

"You've been in here for a while, Doc," she noted. "Nobody's seen you since breakfast, so I got the honor of coming to tempt you out for dinner. Clint's making spaghetti, you don't want to miss that."

"Is it that late already?" Bruce blinked, glancing at his watch. Yes, apparently it was. "Ah, sorry about that. I got somewhat caught up in this and didn't realize it was that late."

"All of us do that sometimes." There was a slight twitch to her lips, but Bruce knew she wasn't just placating him. It was indeed something of a common occurrence among their medley crew. He knew he and Tony were the worst, getting lost in their lab and workshop respectively for hours on end, but they all had their own zone — Steve filling page after page of his sketchbook, Clint losing count of his rounds at the range, Natasha repeating katas long past most people's bodies would have cried for mercy.

It was somewhat comforting, knowing he wasn't the only dysfunctional one.

"By the way, would you happen to know why this little lady has been hiding out here?" he asked, pausing in putting away in his equipment to point at Scarecrow, still curled up on the shelf. "She came in some time before noon and hasn't left since. Is Jarvis not enough for surveillance, now?"

There actually was a look of mild surprise on Natasha's face for a moment. "She came here?" There was an odd tone to her voice.

"Well, yeah. Scampered in through the vent Clint always leaves open, climbed up on the shelf and has been watching me since." He chuckled. "It was a bit unnerving at first, but it's not like I haven't had observers before." Mostly, Natasha herself, as it lately often turned out.

"That's… interesting." Another twitch of her lips. "I sent her off when she tried to get in the way of my training with Clint."

"Well, I suppose that makes sense," Bruce admitted. "She's been here before often enough."

"True. Except I didn't just tell her to go away." He looked at Natasha again, prompted by her strange tone, and found her looking as close to bewildered as she had ever seen her. "I told her to go home."

Well, that certainly gave him pause. "I suppose she really is here quite often," he commented then, not sure how he was supposed to react.

"You mean, I'm here quite often." At least he wasn't the one who said it.

And now, there was a warm feeling in his chest he suspected was more explicable than he wanted to admit. "I don't mind," he said, not bothering to clarify that he meant both the bot and her.

Natasha didn't respond, but as he put away the last of his equipment she hooked an arm through his, Scarecrow hopping down to her other shoulder as she started leading him out of his lab and toward the team dinner that awaited.

This was his life now.

He supposed he could live with it.

*

Natasha blinked at Steve, who was looking positively sheepish standing at the door of her room. "You want me to do what?"

"Come Christmas shopping with me?" Steve repeated. "I mean, I know what you said at the party, but I should probably have some help if I'm going to go shopping, I'm still not that good at navigating department stores and the like. Just, if you don't think it's offensive or something?"

"Well, I don't mind." About time she got some actual use of the expenses card Tony had acquired for her. "I need to do my own shopping anyway. As I said, I don't exactly see seasonal bribes as a religious thing or anything. I've got to wonder, though, why would you ask me?"

"I just didn't know who else to ask." Steve sighed. "Pepper would probably be the best at picking gifts, she has such good taste, but she's far too busy for me to ask her. And while Tony obviously likes spending money, I really don't think he's the best person I could turn for advice in this matter."

"Well, that's certainly true," she snorted, grabbing her jacket. "What about the rest, though? You seem to get along with them well enough." Not that he was unfriendly to her or anything, but occasionally he just had this awkward air around her, one that she hadn't noticed in his interactions with most of the team. Perpetual shyness around a woman, she suspected.

"Oh, I couldn't ask Phil and Clint for help. I mean, I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be offended or anything, but, well, Phil's still not well enough to be out and about, and Clint wouldn't want to leave him alone for a whole day," Steve rushed to explain. "And Bruce, well, it's probably best not to take him out to the Christmas rush, I can't imagine it'd be good for staying calm."

"Good thinking," Natasha agreed. "Last I heard, all three of them were going to do their own shopping online."

"Yeah, I heard Bruce was going to do that," Steve agreed. "But I, ah, I like to see things before I buy them. And, well… it's pretty much the first time I actually have enough money to buy my friends nice things for Christmas. I want to do this right." He looked sheepish, as though he'd just confessed something embarrassing and possibly shameful.

"I have the opposite problem, myself," she admitted, making sure her wallet, phone and guns were all safely tucked away before she stepped out of her room, ready to leave. "It's the first time I've had more than one or two people I actually care to give something to." And she would never admit to most of them that she felt anything resembling caring. They'd have never let her live it down, Clint least of all.

"Let's hope both of us find something good, then." Steve sighed as they headed for the elevator. "Truth be told, I'm utterly at a loss for what to give Tony."

"Besides a hard smack over the head?" Natasha's lips twitched at Steve's momentarily scandalized expression before he broke into a chuckle.

"Well, I do admit that might sometimes be necessary, but I'm not sure that's entirely appropriate for a present." Steve turned more serious. "I mean — he's taken all of us in, and been so generous, but there's nothing I can think of that I could give him. Anything money can buy, he already has if he wants it."

"You could just get him something that he's going to like but hasn't thought of buying, himself."

"Except that would require me to get something that he's definitely going to like," Steve pointed out. "And that's difficult all on its own. Definitely no electronics, because he prefers to make his own, but then just about anything else he'd just find old-fashioned and 'quaint' and probably laugh at me."

"Oh, come on. Stark's not quite that difficult." Though she supposed she could see the dilemma.

"You sound like you have an idea, yourself." Steve sounded somewhat doubtful, though.

"Actually, yes. I do have an idea." She gave him a smirk. "And what's even better, it's something only you can give him."

"Oh?" Steve blinked. "And what is that?"

Her smirk got wider. "Would you happen to know anyone on the Air Force?"

*

While there were certain benefits to not living alone anymore, as Tony would admit if forced to, it definitely had its downsides, too. One of the worst sides to it was having people come bother him when he was in the middle of something extremely important. And, yes, recalibrating the repulsors' underwater capabilities was absolutely essential. What if some kind of a sea monster decided to attack tomorrow? They'd be sorry then that they hadn't let him do his work.

Of course, under most circumstances, if he really didn't want to be bothered, he just ignored the intruder, or simply made Jarvis keep them out. However, somehow Clint had managed to get into the workshop nevertheless, doubtlessly using Phil's annoying personal overrides, which he absolutely had to revoke some time soon by the way. The point being, this was annoying, and absolutely unacceptable. Especially as Clint insisted on getting his attention, mainly by suddenly standing or crouching or hanging right in front of him without a warning.

"Is there a point to this?" Tony asked when he'd been startled backwards into a shelf after finding Clint's upside-down face right in front of his, and was now nursing a developing bruise on his shin. "Besides being creepy and annoying, that is?"

"It's Christmas." What, and not National Let's Annoy Tony day? He could have been fooled. "I'm pretty sure Jarvis told you this."

"He did. I ignored it. What's it to you, anyway?" Tony grabbed a wrench and turned back to his gloves. "I've been reliably informed I'm to consider you Jewish except where Cap's bacon is concerned. Is this some kind of a test? Are you trying to prove me culturally insensitive? Because I thought we all knew I'm an asshole without any trickery."

"True, but as I recall, you're the one who got everyone to agree that presents are a good thing, anyway. You can tinker down here any time."

"It's a Stark family tradition. You're being insensitive by not letting me observe it." Though this was only reminiscent of his mother's attempts at getting his father out of his own workshop only in name. For one thing, Clint was infinitely more annoying.

"What, so you're going back on your word?"

"I'm pretty sure I had the bots deliver my presents to everyone at the appropriate time. If they got distributed wrong, that's not my problem, you're all old enough to read labels." Tony rolled his eyes. "Shouldn't you be looking after Agent, anyway? You've been here for a while now."

"I gave Nat permission to shoot anyone who as much as looks at him too harshly." Clint shrugged. "Of course, Phil immediately revoked the permission, but it's the thought that counts, right?"

"Granted, my social skills are lacking at best, but I'm still not entirely sure you're allowed to use that saying in this context." Tony raised his eyebrows. "So, what's important enough that you chose to abandon him, anyway?"

"You. We need you to come up. It's time for our completely non-denominational religious except not celebration of the various holidays and lack thereof of the season. There's food and presents and your attendance is mandatory, as I've been asked to inform you."

"Screw you." Tony rolled his eyes. "I'm in the middle of something here."

"Pepper's coming, too."

"So let me know when she's actually there. You can't threaten me with her until she's present, you realize." Tony fought the urge to stick his tongue out at Clint. "So, scram."

"At least come see Cap's present for you. He's close to panicking because he thinks you figured out what it is and you're only hiding in here because you don't like it but don't want to let him see just how much you hate it." Clint squinted critically at Tony. "That's not it, is it?"

"What? No. I'm not that much of a kid." That, and Jarvis absolutely refused to help him in finding out what people were going to get him for Christmas. "I'm just busy, that's all."

"Come on. It's not like we're expecting you to spend the whole day with us, you're far too antisocial for that. Come open your presents, eat a proper meal for a change, and then when Pepper's satisfied we haven't let you die you can come back here and play hermit."

"Will that shut you up?" Tony sighed. He was just not getting any work done as long as Hawkass insisted on hanging around.

"Cross my heart." Clint grinned like a man who had just won a difficult battle. Tony supposed it wasn't too far from the truth. He'd never claimed to be a very easy person to deal with, after all. "Now come on. I know not even you can handle the idea of making Captain America cry."

Tony murmured about just how likely Steve was to cry over him, but put his tools down nevertheless. Clint was obviously persistent, and he could just as well get the social obligations over with. After all, he had been the one who first raised the subject of Christmas presents, so he supposed it was only fair that he actually took part in the whole mess. That, and it just might make Jarvis ease up on his periodical reminders.

He had to say, the smell of food that greeted him was enough by itself to make the terrible trek out of his workshop worth it. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to admit it. Especially since the food was apparently not ready yet, considering the fact most of the team were gathered in the living room and not busy gorging themselves.

"So." He clapped his hands together as though preparing for a grand task. "Where's this gift I absolutely must see?"

"I suppose that would be me." The familiar voice made him spin, his eyes widening as he spotted the familiar form leaning against the frame of the kitchen door. "Good to see you, too, grumpy bear."

"Rhodey!" Tony exclaimed, unable to contain his surprise. "I thought you'd be out for another month at least!"

"Yeah, well, so did I," Rhodey replied, grinning as he stepped out of the doorway. "Apparently, though, a certain someone wished otherwise, and even the Air Force has fans of Captain America."

Now, Tony turned to look at Steve, who appeared sheepish. "I couldn't think of anything else to give you," he murmured. "Natasha suggested this. I wasn't even sure if it'd work until I got a call yesterday saying that my request could be granted. Of course, I didn't actually make any demands or anything, that'd be abusing my authority, but…"

"Oh, don't sweat about it, Cap," Clint snorted, already at his usual spot besides Phil. "I'm pretty sure keeping Stark happy is beneficial to the national security, anyway."

"Screw you, Barton," Tony replied, though he couldn't entirely keep the grin out of his face. Rhodey was here! Rhodey and food and booze, hopefully, and Pepper would appear at some point. This was, without a doubt, his best Christmas yet, and he'd seen more of those than he cared to count.

He supposed the repulsor calibrations could wait until tomorrow, after all. Or the day after.

There were more important things, after all.


	7. Good, Bad, and Yet to Be Determined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life at the Tower is finally settling into something of a pattern. Phil and Steve discuss certain topics touching them both, Bruce and Natasha hide from the chaos, and Pepper has conflicting feelings about Tony's new happiness. Of course, just as everyone is more or less happy, something happens to shake everything up. Steve is shocked, spies are curious, and Tony has to make one of his hardest decisions to date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand apologies for the long wait; the last couple of months I've been busy with planning and then writing my NaNoWriMo fic.
> 
> This December, as usual, I aim to have at least one update a day until Christmas; this year, they are all Avengers-related. So far the updates have been to said NaNo fic, [Some Assembly Required](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1064542). There will also be a few chapters of a separate AU fic, and, real life permitting, hopefully another chapter of this fic before Christmas.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

"He seems tired."

Phil looked up from the TV screen at the Captain, then glanced to his side at Clint. The archer was asleep, curled up against his shoulder. "He's been restless the last few nights," he replied. "I suspect he is more concerned than he lets on about the negotiations with SHIELD and the World Security Council."

"Oh?" Steve sat down on the other couch, eyeing Clint with what seemed like a concerned frown. "Is he afraid it will be too stressful for you?"

"Perhaps." Clint usually made it his priority to know the strength of his allies, but sometimes he did let his concern cloud his better judgment. "It's not all of it, though. I won't say it isn't tiring at times, and I am not altogether happy with Director Fury, but I do appreciate the intellectual challenge of coordinating everything, and Clint knows that. I suspect he mostly worries about the outcome of the negotiations."

"How so?"

"Clint dislikes working for those whose motivations he cannot be certain of." Which meant he'd done some less than admirable things in the past simply because he had been quite clear that the goals, however lacking in morality, did not harm him, but that was in the past. "Until the negotiations have been concluded successfully, and all the associated paperwork has been handled, we are still working provisionally under SHIELD's supervision. After the way Fury handled my so-called death, he isn't exactly enthusiastic to have that continue."

"I understand it's rather complicated, though." The frown was back, though now presumably for slightly different reasons.

"Quite. The Avengers initiative was under review on and off for years before the actual implementation, which happened during a time of dire emergency. After that the team has been allowed to continue carrying out occasional missions mostly because you have been under at least nominal supervision from a government organization. Turning all that private is not something that can be done overnight, however much Tony might wish so."

"He never got into trouble about the Iron Man, though."

"Well, not into any trouble he couldn't get out of. Mostly thanks to an army of lawyers and a plethora of incidents that could not actually be proved to have been his work. However, even establishing this one superhero kept his legal team busy for months, and he concentrated mostly on clearly beneficial missions. It's entirely different from taking over an already existing team with enough firepower that any situation that requires you will likely result in massive collateral damage."

"Do you think you can do it, though?"

"Oh, I'm certain. I do have a legal team to aid me, thanks to the lovely Pepper, and everyone involved is more or less motivated to keep the Avengers going in one form or another, given that nobody wishes to risk another alien invasion without a functional response team." Which didn't mean they were entirely happy to have that response team work on its own the rest of the time. "However, it's still going to take months before we can officially cut off any SHIELD support and not get immediately arrested for vigilantism or worse domestic terrorism."

"We are lucky to have you on our side." There was a small smile on Steve's face that was almost enough to make him blush and fidget. It wasn't that easy to get over your childhood hero praising you, even if you had seen him snoring on the couch.

"Ah, thank you."

"It's just the truth." The Captain looked like he was about to say something else, then fell silent again. He seemed slightly uncomfortable, which made Phil curious, mostly because this wasn't the first time he had seen such a look from the Captain. It seemed to be his default expression whenever he and Phil were alone, which granted did not happen often, but made Phil wonder just what he had done wrong to cause such a look. He hadn't even been acting like an overly enthusiastic fanboy lately; he'd gotten over most of that within his first couple of weeks of staying with the team.

Clint shifted against his shoulder, murmuring something in his sleep, which reminded him of something his husband had told him a while back. It certainly would explain at least some awkward fidgeting and interrupted words. "It's fine to ask about my mother, you know."

Steve seemed startled. "What?"

"My mother. Clint mentioned he told you who she was, and it would certainly explain your apparent wish to talk to me about something you aren't sure if you should bring up." Phil managed a faint smile. "She told me all about you when I was young. I suppose it would be only right for me to return the favor."

"Right." Steve nodded slowly, now. "I, ah, I didn't want to seem intrusive."

"No harm in asking. I don't mind telling you, either." His lips twitched. "After all, you knew her before I did."

"It's still kind of hard to understand, sometimes." Steve sighed. "I mean, it's the same with Tony. Howard was close to my age back then, and now his son is older than I am. And just when I'd gotten somewhat used to it, I find out that you're Peggy's son."

"Your situation is certainly unique in its difficulty." Phil shook his head. He wasn't sure how he would have handled waking up in a world where everything he knew was gone. "What do you want to know about her?"

"You said she told you about me." There was an almost shy quality to the Captain's voice, now. "So, ah… she didn't forget about me, then?"

"Anything but." He gave Steve a small smile again. "She joined several of Howard's expeditions to find you, all the way until she married my father. And after that, she still demanded full reports of their results."

"I see." Steve hesitated again, then said, "Clint told me your father died when you were young."

"Yes." Phil found Clint's hand with his, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. He hadn't truly known his father, didn't feel sorrow as much as he had a quiet wish he might have known the man better. "She married late, and he fell only a few years later. For what it's worth, though, my mother told me she was happy with him."

"I'm glad to hear that at least." Steve looked away. "I would have done my best to make her happy, if I'd come back in time. Not sure I would have succeeded, though."

"You probably would have. She always spoke highly of you." Phil paused, then decided to go for honesty. "Well, for the most part she spoke highly. She did have a few choice words about your less reasonable decisions." Such as rushing off to his death, but that was not something he was about to discuss.

"I'm not entirely surprised." Steve chuckled faintly. "She shot at me once, you know."

"Really?" That was a story he hadn't heard before. "Why?"

"She saw another lass kiss me. At least, I think that was the reason." Steve grinned, just a bit. "Lucky thing I was just trying out my shield for the first time, and I have fast reflexes. She never shot me again, though, so I suppose she didn't really want me dead."

"I'd say I can't believe she did that, but that would be a blatant lie." Phil smirked. "After Clint met her for the first time, he swore she gave him nightmares."

"I can imagine." Steve chuckled as he glanced at Clint. "She was scary enough when I was hoping to make her my girl. Can't even imagine what she'd be like as a mother-in-law."

"Clint is just lucky my grandmother wasn't around anymore by the time he came into the picture. She used to say that if I tried to bring anyone even nearly military type into the family, she'd just shoot them herself to save me the heartache."

"That sounds rather harsh." Steve winced, doubtlessly thinking of how he had left Peggy waiting for him.

"Well, I can't truly blame her. She lost her son in a war, after all, and he was the second man my mother lost that way." He paused, then added to clarify, "The first one being you."

"I'm sorry." Steve certainly looked apologetic.

"Don't be. She knew why you did what you did." Phil shook his head. "If she had thought sacrifices are something to regret, she hardly would have let me take on a military career after you and my father both died. Well, were presumed dead, in your case."

"I'm still sorry to have hurt her." Steve sighed, then managed a small smile. "She… what was she like? In her older days, I mean?"

"Let me propose you a trade, Captain." Clint's weight was comforting at his side. "I will tell you about Peggy Coulson if you in turn tell me more about Peggy Carter."

The small hint of a smile grew into something more, still wistful but definitely genuine. "That sounds like a fair deal to me."

"I quite hoped it would." And, perhaps, it would also help him better understand the man behind the hero he had grown up idolizing.

He was certain he would not be disappointed.

*

Bruce didn't look up as the door to the lab was opened and closed. The sound was obviously deliberate, a message for him that someone had arrived. He appreciated the courtesy, knowing it wasn't extended to everyone.

"Is it that late already?" He frowned at the readings on his screen as though he could discern the time of the day from them. "I was sure I could go over these values before dinner time." At least he was fairly sure Natasha had mentioned something about dragging him out of lab for dinner regardless of his consent. He wasn't sure if he should have been intimidated or grateful for such care.

"Hm? Oh, it's not that." Natasha hopped up on a counter, in the spot she had claimed as hers a long while ago. "Stark's on the war path, and however much I may enjoy messing with him on occasion, I prefer it to be on my own terms."

"Oh?" Bruce looked over to her. She was beautiful as ever, hair a deep red even under the sterile lights of the lab. "Do I dare ask?"

"Apparently Clint taught some stupid trick to his bots, and now they won't stop annoying him. So, he's sworn vengeance." Ah, yes, of course. "Except Clint's taken Scarecrow and hidden away somewhere. They both want me to take a side, preferably theirs, and I don't have the patience for something that childish."

"That… sounds rather typical." Bruce sighed. "How bad is it?"

"Could be worse. I think Cap's very firmly looking the other way; he's mostly just glad that Clint managed to tempt Tony out of his workshop for a change, he's been there a lot lately. I figure that as long as there are no explosions, I'm not actually obligated to interfere."

"Sometimes it's better to just stay neutral." Bruce chuckled. "What are their weapons of choice this time?"

"Nerf guns, if the arsenal Clint was lugging around was any indication."

Now, Bruce blinked, adjusting his glasses. "What? You'd think Tony would know better than to challenge Clint into a shooting war."

"Yes, well, you forget Stark prefers to fashion his own weaponry." Natasha shrugged. "Last I saw him, he was setting up some kind of a sentry gun with computer-assisted targeting."

"Of course he was." Bruce sighed, finally looking at the clock on the wall. "They're going to be at this for hours, aren't they?"

"Most likely. Phil is just glad Clint's actually willing to leave his side for more than a moment, so I don't think we can count on him to bring any sense to this situation. Given how stubborn they can both be, it's probably going to go on until they're too tired to continue."

"Great." He shook his head. "And of course Clint doesn't remember it's supposed to be his turn to cook dinner?"

"I'm afraid so. Cap and Phil decided that if they haven't calmed down in an hour or two, they're ordering take-out." Which was basically the same as saying it was definitely going to happen. Neither Clint nor Tony would surrender that fast, no matter what.

"Pity. I'd already been looking forward to dinner." He should have stopped at that, should have made some comment on how take-out wouldn't be bad for a change, should have done anything except say what he did. However, the words were out before he was even fully conscious that they were trying to exit his mouth. "So, what were you planning to do for dinner?"

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "I hadn't finalized any plans in particular," she replied, her tone carefully neutral. "Why do you ask?"

Well, hung for a lamb. Or shot for an implication, whatever. "Could I convince you to go out for dinner?"

"With you, I presume." She didn't bother to frame it as a question. "I suppose that wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility."

Bruce could hardly believe his ears, but then, he didn't have any alternative input to go by, either. "How about it, then? Nothing too formal, those kind of things make me awkward, but maybe that Italian place Tony took everyone to a couple of weeks ago?"

"That sounds perfect." She flashed him a quick smile. "I'm sure JARVIS will let us borrow one of Tony's cars since the man himself is too busy to be reached for comment."

Bruce wasn't usually a big advocate of Tony's worse antics, except where they appealed to his scientific side, but just this once, he was infinitely grateful.

*

Pepper should have been happier about this.

No, really, she should have. Pretty much the entire time she had known Tony she had hoped he would have more of a social circle. No, she did not count the people he took to bed, or the numerous business contacts with names he remembered to the last even though he would do his best to pretend otherwise. The people he truly liked, the ones he trusted and let close, were few and far between. In all the time she had known her, setting aside any that were his own creations, there had been three at best; Rhodey, of course, his oldest and best friend, herself, though she had often hesitated to say that, and Obadiah, the one bridge of trust that had been burned to the ground with extreme prejudice. And then, after Obadiah's betrayal, he'd been left with two.

Now, things had changed, at quite the rapid pace. There was Bruce, now, as sure a confidant of Tony's secrets and whims as Pepper had ever been, and Steve, as firm and calm as he guided Tony towards less destructive paths as Rhodey had ever been. Clint, too, with Tony's constant complaints at how unreasonable the archer was and how Tony was surely going to have his revenge, and Natasha's quiet amusement at Tony's quirks and whims that she surely would not have tolerated from anyone else within her vicinity, and even Phil's faint but fond smiles whenever she managed to steal a moment to go and see her friend. Tony had friends, a family even, and all without any prompting from her.

Somewhere along the way, Tony had grown a more noteworthy collection of friends than Pepper herself could boast. And, knowing Tony, he did not even know it himself, the idiot.

She should have teased him about it, she really should have, yet there had never seemed to be a good time. When it had first begun, she had hardly even been speaking to him, the pain of their break-up still too raw, and any teasing would have been too deep a cruelty on him even if she had truly been angry with him. And now it seemed it was too late, the friendships too deeply ingrained into his life, too glaringly obvious for him to take any notice of them. Pepper was almost certain that if she had actually teased him about his great number of friendships, he would have blinked her in surprise and incomprehension.

Trust Tony Stark to actually manage to have some sort of social success and never realize it.

There was a message at her phone, one accompanied by the sound of Tony's voice calling her name, a feature she had not managed to disable even though she had changed her phone. One of the downsides of being close to its designer, she supposed. With a small sigh, she picked it up. Looking at the message, she blinked.

It was Tony in the picture, she was quite certain of it, as there was the familiar glow of the reactor through his t-shirt. That was the only thing she might have recognized him by, given the amount of oil and dirt on his face, his hair sticking every which way.

"Note to self: Never let an archer into the lab," read the accompanying message. Pepper couldn't help but chuckle.

"Make your own notes, Tony. I have a company to run," she typed back, knowing he would take them for the gentle teasing she meant them as. Somehow, for all how clueless he could be in some things, there were others that he grasped quite easily.

Her hand found its way to her chest. Hidden under her blouse, hanging by a thin chain around her neck, a delicate ring lay against her skin, a perfect fit for her finger should she have ever chosen to wear it as intended. She never would, not now, but that didn't mean she would scorn his gift, even though it was a constant reminder that she hadn't been enough for his happiness. Hadn't been able to give him that happiness.

Tony was happy now, though. That was enough for her.

It had to be enough.

*

It had, Steve noted, been an unusually peaceful day. Peaceful for the Avengers tower, in any case. Jarvis had informed him earlier that there had been minor explosions in Doctor Banner's lab, but nothing big enough to cause structural damage or invite any unexpected guests. Steve wasn't sure if he should have been amused at Jarvis's description of the Hulk or amazed at Bruce's level of control. Either way, the situation did not appear to require his intervention. All he did was make sure that Natasha was nearby; she did do best at handling a rattled Bruce.

Steve was most definitely not going to think about her methods of, ah, handling him.

Aside from what would probably have caused a major incident right after the attempted invasion and now barely entered his radar, things had been perfectly ordinary in the best possible way. Steve had joined Clint and Phil at the firing range, noting with satisfaction that if nothing else, the agent's aim was at least more than acceptable. Clint had still fussed and hovered, of course, because that was what he did; they had reached April, with Phil's collapse and operation back in November, yet he still hardly left Phil out of his sight unless absolutely necessary. Steve had contemplated stepping in, but so far Phil assured him it wasn't a problem.

It was, Steve figured, a very good situation when his main concerns about his team revolved around overprotective husbands and whatever it was Natasha did to make Bruce calm down that he was most definitely not going to think about, thanks.

The usual troublemaker had shut off in his lab and hadn't come out all day. Steve would have worried, but Jarvis assured him the food he had sent in via a concerned Dummy had been received and mostly consumed. He trusted Jarvis would have alerted him if Tony had actually needed attending to, so for now it was best to leave him to his work. As much as Steve did do his best to bring Tony out to meet the rest of the world every now and then, he had also learned that Tony did require occasional caffeine-fueled work spurts in order to function like himself. It still worried Steve, of course, he couldn't help worrying, but he knew that at the end of it Tony would crash in his bed or on a similar enough surface, sleep for the better part of the day, and finally emerge in a much improved mood and hungry enough to almost match Steve's own appetite at least for a meal or two. Those were some of Tony's better moments, and as worrying as that thought should have been, Steve had come to accept the whole process as just another aspect of dealing with a Tony Stark in his life.

Right now, however, he wasn't worrying about any of his teammates. It was late enough at night that the only way he was going to be joined by anyone in the living room was if they were woken up, possibly by a nightmare, which had been happening less and less over the past months. If he decided to spend the couple of hours he stayed awake more than his friends watching TV in the living room, right where anyone could find him if they needed to, well, that was in no way due to any concern or worry. That was simply force of habit, and he was going to stick to that story.

He was halfway through a murder mystery as Tony burst into the room. Steve turned to look at him, taking in the messy hair, wild eyes, shirt pulled on in a hurry perhaps to replace a dirty one. This was not the post-crash, satisfied Tony he liked seeing emerge from the workshop. This was, one way or another, bad.

"Tony?" He was already halfway up from the couch. "Is something the matter?"

"Damn. It's that late? Of course nobody's up anymore. And I can't call Pepper, she'd kill me if I called her at this hour," Tony muttered, apparently more to himself than Steve. "Okay, no choice here. Cap, you're coming with me. No excuses accepted."

"Coming with you where?" And yet he was already walking toward Tony, knowing full well he was going to follow him right out of the Tower to wherever he was headed.

"The hospital."

Steve frowned, his bafflement immediately replaced by concern. "Are you hurt?" He didn't look injured in any way, not to Steve at least, but then if there was anything he had learned as the leader of their little ragtag team so far, it was that his teammates were all extraordinarily talented in the art of hiding their weaknesses. He would have been rather foolish to assume that just because Tony seemed fine, he was.

"No, I'm not. There's just someone there I need to see."

"Oh?" His frown deepened. It couldn't have been any of the Avengers or Pepper, or he was sure Jarvis would have already alerted him. It seemed urgent, though; only an emergency could get Tony into such a mood so late in the day. "What happened?"

"Look, I'll explain on the way, okay?" Tony ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking every which way. "It's nobody you know, so don't worry about that."

"If it's nobody I know, why do I need to come along?" He wasn't even going to point out the fact that he was going to worry no matter what. Tony's harried expression would have been enough for that.

"Because I have the feeling I'm going to need someone to ride herd on me lest they decide to kick me out." Tony frowned, now. "Which is ridiculous, by the way. I mean, I own the place, right? So it shouldn't make any sense that they can kick me out of it. Still, wouldn't want to deal with the hassle of them trying."

"I'll do my best." Even though he knew he was woefully unequipped to hold Tony back if he were to get out of hand. Even Pepper struggled with that sometimes. "I will need to actually know what's going on, though."

"I told you, on the way." There was an edge of tiredness to Tony's voice that stopped him from prodding any further.

Neither of them spoke much as they made their way down to the garage and into one of Tony's luxurious cars, aside from asking Jarvis to tell the others not to worry if they woke up to find them gone. It wasn't until they were out of the Tower and on the streets of New York that Tony finally broke the silence.

"I just got a call from the Maria Stark Memorial," he said, eyes firmly on the road. "They just got an urgent patient."

"Right." Steve nodded. "Someone you know?"

"You could say that." Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm apparently about to become a father."

Steve's eyes widened. "What?"

"You heard me perfectly well, Cap. Try not to moralize, please." Tony's lips twitched into a grim smile. "So, turns out my little dalliances while trying to get over Pepper bore some fruit. I came to an agreement with the mother — her silence for my money. And don't look at me like that; she didn't want anything else from me, and good for her."

"And now she's giving birth?" Because that was the only way this was making any sense.

"Yeah. She's at the Maria Memorial since I arranged for her check-ups and such to all be there; it's the one place where I can more or less count on the staff to keep their mouth shut. Except, it's too early for the baby to be coming, and there's complications."

"Oh." Steve paled despite himself. He knew medicine had come leaps and bounds since his time, but he was also aware that even with all the medicinal advances childbirth always bore certain risks. "Are they — are they in danger?"

"Sure seems so, since the hospital decided to call me. They have me on file as the kid's father, and she apparently has no next of kin to speak of. So when things started going wrong, they decided I was their best bet to call, just in case."

"Right. Just in case." Steve swallowed. "What are you going to do?"

"Honestly? Fuck if I know." Now, the tiredness in Tony's voice was creeping on his face as well. "I never figured I'd have to do anything. I've been making sure she's got the money and resources to do as she pleases, in return for keeping the kid safe and happy. At no point did I expect I'd have to actually make any decisions."

"But if something happens…"

"Well, so far nothing has happened." Tony's hands tightened on the steering wheel, just a bit. "With any luck, any hint of an emergency will be over by the time we get there."

"Let's hope so." Though if what Tony had said about the baby being early was true, Steve wasn't entirely sure he dared to be hopeful.

Somehow, despite Tony's less than ideal state of mind, they made it to the hospital without any accidents. Tony barely had to say two words at the reception as they were already being led further into the depths of the hospital, away from what prying eyes there might have been in the middle of the night. The tension never left Tony, but he stayed quiet for the most part, so much so that it would have been enough to make Steve worry.

He felt helpless, standing there as Tony paced around, looking harried. This wasn't something he could fight, not even really something he could offer advice about. Tony may have been out of his depth in this situation, but Steve was no better, still trying to process the whole thing and without any idea of what to do. All he could do, at this point, was stand there with Tony, hoping his presence offered some small support as a doctor finally came, telling them the baby had been born, small and weak but apparently without any further problems.

"Peter," Tony replied as the doctor asked what they should put on the birth certificate. "She mentioned she wanted to call him Peter." It was the only thing he said that was of any actual substance, otherwise limited to simple yes and nos and I understands, until the doctor hurried away again.

"I'm sorry," Steve said, quietly, his hand hovering about Tony's shoulder. "I hope they have good news about her."

"Don't be sorry." Tony shook his head. "She's not my great love or anything. I mean, she's a smart woman, I hope she turns out all right, but it's not going to break me if something happens to her."

"Still." He let his hand rest on Tony's shoulder, at last. "Besides… if something does happen, you will be all Peter has left."

All Tony gave him in response was a gaze that coming from anyone else might have seemed frightened.

As another doctor came by, some time later, with hushed tones and serious eyes, all Steve could do was wish he could have chased that fear away.

*

Something was going on with Tony.

Natasha knew this with utmost certainty, would have even if she hadn't spotted him returning home at what could only be rightly called morning, accompanied by Steve of all people. She hadn't gone up to demand an explanation then, figuring their less than happy expressions had been proof enough that there hadn't been any unreasonable celebration going on. Of course, that had left her with the question of exactly what had happened, unanswered even as she watched quietly as they parted, each heading to his own room.

At her first sight of their return she had dared to hope they might have finally gotten over their idiocy and realized just how badly they needed each other, but apparently she was not in such luck. The parting she might have chalked up to Steve being the most annoying sort of an old-fashioned gentleman, but their expressions were not those of men who were forced to part despite wanting nothing as much as to stay together. No, there was something else pressing them, enough that even Stark allowed himself to look distressed, so what that he probably wasn't aware she had seen him.

She was the curious sort and not ashamed to admit that. She had to be, or she wouldn't have made for a very effective spy. What made her a still living spy was that she also knew when it was best to leave well enough alone. Yes, both Tony and Steve looked distressed, yes, they had obviously been out together at some indecent hours of the night, and yes, it would be impossible to get anything out of Tony by direct and fair means. However, she also happened to know that Steve was not a fan of secrets, no matter what. If something was going on that she should have been aware of, he would tell her sooner or later. And even if it wasn't necessarily important enough for him to inform her directly, he would blurt it out sooner or later if she knew him at all. All she needed to do was be patient and wait for one or both of them to crack.

It would happen sooner or later; whatever was going on had to be big, and they wouldn't be able to hold it in forever. Even if neither of them might choose her for a confidante, Tony would go to Bruce as soon as he wanted to get things off his chest, and she was sure she could coax him into sharing the information with her. Surely, if it was something big, it was best that she know about it, if not otherwise, then so she could make sure not to taunt them about anything related. She may have been cruel, yes, but not even she would needlessly add to the distress of someone she considered a friend, as Bruce well knew.

Assuming, of course, that he wouldn't see directly through her veiled words at the concealed curiosity within. It should have distressed her more, knowing someone could read her like that, but somehow, it failed to fill her with the kind of dread it once might have, in days before a certain archer had chosen not to take an easy shot, days before Clint and Phil and SHIELD and this strange, insane bunch of people avenging things not yet lost.

It was something she might enjoy being accustomed to.

*

Clint was getting skittish.

It wasn't much of a surprise, given how little they'd had to do lately. SHIELD wasn't sure they could trust them, which wasn't much of a surprise with the negotiations for control still going on. However, that meant they had been delegated to the very last resort, which meant there was nothing to do. Unless something comparable to the Chitauri showed up, they had little hope of seeing any action any time soon.

On one hand, this was something of a relief. It meant he didn't have to leave Phil's side for indeterminable amounts of time, didn't have to leave him out of his sight while something terrible and dangerous was going on. Yes, he knew Phil was recovering fast and could handle himself better than well, but there was still some lingering fear from the time Clint had thought he'd lost him forever. Leaving Phil behind while he picked up his bow would have brought up memories he wasn't ready to face just yet.

On the other hand, well, bored. So very bored. There was only so much time he was willing to spend on the range, especially as doing so meant leaving Phil somewhere else most of the time, and where unlimited time in front of Tony Stark's huge TV might have seemed like an appealing prospect in the beginning, by now he was growing utterly sick of it. He needed something, anything to do that didn't involve sitting down or the umpteenth run of target practice.

Luckily, he knew exactly where to head for some innovative entertainment. After all, he was living with one of the most innovative men in the known world. That had to be good for something, right?

Finding Tony was easy enough. There was no sign of him in the living room or the kitchen, and according to JARVIS he hadn't left the building, so Clint headed over to the workshop. Tony was bound to be there.

To his surprise, he didn't find Tony there, either. Looking around the deserted workshop, he found nothing but sadly whirring bots and abandoned pieces on the work benches.

"JARVIS? You have any idea where Tony is?"

"Indeed I do. Sir has retired to an additional entertainment room to review some footage."

"Right." He hadn't heard of any such place, but he supposed it made sense Tony would have more than one living room. "Any particular reason why the regular screen wouldn't do?"

"Far as I understand, he does not wish to be around Captain Rogers while drinking."

Clint frowned. That was strange. Not the statement by JARVIS; it seemed logical Tony wouldn't feel too great about drinking around Steve, nobody wanted to face Cap's disapproval or worse disappointment. However, from what he understood, it had been quite a while since Tony'd had reason to drink in excess. "Any chance I could see him?"

"Sir only told me not to let Captain Rogers see him." Which probably meant the rest had been implied, but JARVIS was choosing to ignore anything but the direct order. Of course Tony Stark would have a mother hen computer. "Please follow my directions."

Clint found the place easily enough, a cozy room on a floor he had never visited before. There was a huge screen taking over an entire wall, and damn, they were so going to have some epic movie marathons here if Clint had his way. Facing the screen was Tony, a few bottles on the table in front of him, some of them empty. He held a glass in his hand, eyes locked on the screen.

There was a man on the screen, one who looked a lot like Tony, with a smarmy little mustache instead of the usual goatee combo. He was speaking to the camera — no, to Tony. The rhythm and manner of his speech, though, made it clear this was a recording, not some strange booze-filled conference call. Not that he would have known whether Tony considered boozed conferences strange.

"What's that?"

Tony seemed startled to hear his voice, turning quickly. "What… Hawkass? What're you doing here?"

"I was looking for entertainment. JARVIS told me where to find you." Clint nodded towards the screen, where the man continued talking. "Who's that?"

"My father." Well, that was not what he had expected. "I decided I wasn't feeling miserable enough."

"Right." What do you know, he could actually sympathize on some level. "Any particular reason you're holed up here, getting drunk off your ass and watching your old man?"

"Needed to do some thinking, that's all." Tony shrugged. "And since I'm doing my best to be a decent person, I thought I'd get a look at a prime example of what not to do."

"If you say so." And wow, that wasn't creepy at all. "Anything I should know about? Whatever you're thinking about, that is."

"Not yet, at least." Ominous. "I'll let you know if it ever concerns you."

"Riiight." Clint paused. "You probably aren't looking for company, so how about I'll just come by to haul your drunken ass to bed when JARVIS decides you've had enough?"

Tony chuckled, and while the sound wasn't exactly happy, there was some humor to it.

Well. It could have been worse, of that Clint was sure.

Now he just needed to amuse himself somehow until Tony was soused enough to require his help.

*

"Tony?" Steve's steps were brisk as he followed Tony down the hospital corridor. "Tony, you shouldn't be here."

"Funny. I could almost swear you've spent half your time these past couple of days telling me I should be here more." He didn't move his sunglasses anywhere from his nose, not quite ready to face the bright lights of the corridor right now.

"Tony, you're drunk." The distaste and disapproval in his tone was quite clear. Ah, it must have been wonderful to have such a firm and clear view of life. "This is the last place you should be in this state."

"Okay, point one: The last place I should be while drunk is anywhere inside any of my suits, as I'm sure you'll agree. And point two, I'm actually not drunk, merely hungover. So if you could turn down the volume, it would be very much appreciated." He made a face, paying little mind to the nurses who glanced at them in question. He owned the damn place, he didn't need someone to show him around to places he'd already visited.

"And that's any better?" Steve frowned and fell into step next to him, apparently determined not to let him go around alone even if he waved everyone else off. Of course, that much had been apparent when he had caught up with Tony at the entrance to the hospital, considering that Tony had never invited him along. "Why are you here all of a sudden?"

"I think I have more cause to ask you that." Tony gave him a sharp glance, though it was somewhat ruined by his sunglasses. At least he was certain that was the reason it didn't seem to affect Steve much. "I don't remember telling you to come along."

"Jarvis told me you were headed here," Steve replied, and of course that was what happened. Jarvis could be such a traitor. "I figured you could use some adult presence, so I got on my bike and followed."

"See, here's the thing, Capsicle: I'm actually older than you. Physically, anyway, if not chronologically. As such, I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions."

"I never said you weren't." Except for the part where that was very clearly implied. "It's just… well, I don't want you to make any serious decisions in this state."

"You've been bugging me to make up my mind for days now, though." They were headed for the NICU, now, and the nurses were more strict about their presence, but after flashing his ID and spinning together a few pretty words, he managed to convince them that he actually had acceptable business here, yes, and however annoying the boy scout was, the owner of the place had okayed his hanging along on a moment of temporary insanity. After all, people needed a support system in such difficult situations, right? "Believe me, I've been doing a lot of thinking. And my headache would like to assure you that I am, in fact, not drunk in the least. Much though I'd like to be."

"And that's supposed to reassure me?" Steve's tone dropped as they walked into the private room, the best in the whole place of course, all kinds of machines and devices surrounding the softly lit incubator. "Tony, what are we doing here?"

"What I am doing here," Tony corrected him, walking closer, "is making up my mind. Figured it was about time."

The child was still tiny, though slightly bigger than when he'd first arrived, curled up under the transparent plastic dome. He seemed terribly fragile, though, and a part of Tony was still afraid of getting too close, irrational images of the baby shattering at a touch in his mind's eye.

The best thing to do, as far as he had figured, would have been to find someone to care for the child. A nice couple who'd love him like he was their own, no matter what, who'd keep the small baby close and hold his hands while he learned to walk and shake their heads when he got messy trying to eat by himself. Someone who would give him a normal childhood and everything he could ever need. It'd be easy, just a few phone calls, and he did have the resources to keep an eye on him, to make sure everything went well even after he turned his back. Because that he'd have to do, turn his back on the little boy, let someone else take him away and care for him. That was all it would take to make sure the little boy had a good childhood, a better one than Tony himself ever did.

His own voice echoed in his mind, telling Fury how his father's happiest day had been shipping him off to boarding school. How glad his father had been to be rid of him.

"Tony?" Steve was speaking, but Tony didn't really listen. Glancing around, he spotted a bottle of disinfectant, getting some on his hands and rubbing it everywhere. The child was indeed fragile, maybe not to touch but other things, small things, things like bacteria and viruses and that much Tony at least could protect him from.

He hesitated for a moment before reaching a hand through one of the openings in the dome, still not sure if he should do this, despite a vague memory of a nurse telling him it would be fine, what seemed like a lifetime ago but was probably more of a matter of days. His hand brushed against Peter's head, more by accident than intent, and the baby turned toward the touch.

"Tony." Steve's tone was firmer, now. "I've told you before, the decision is yours. However, once you've made it, I won't let you turn back."

"Oh?" Tony answered with an almost absent tone, fingertips brushing against the soft scalp, then reaching for one small hand. As he touched the soft palm with his fingertip, tiny fingers curled around it, the grip surprisingly firm.

"I mean it, Tony. If you decide to take care of him, I will not let you abandon him later. And believe me, you don't want to cross me like that."

Tony was quiet for a moment, looking at the hand holding onto him. He only had to draw away, turn around, and walk away to call Pepper, who would call other people for him. He'd never have to come here again, never think about the child again aside from some regular reports from people he could pay to make sure the boy was fine with other people who cared for him. About him.

He only had to turn away.

"Do you promise?"

"Huh?" Steve sounded startled. Honestly, what had he expected Tony to say?

"Do you promise?" Tony turned his head, fixing the man a firm stare. "That if I try to run, or push him away, or am otherwise about to fail my son, you will stop me?"

For a moment there was a peculiar look on Steve's face, before it was replaced by firm determination. "You have my word on that."

Tony released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Squaring his shoulders, he looked at the tiny hand holding onto his fingertip. It would have been so easy to pull his hand away, out of the small grasp.

"Not much longer," he murmured. "Not much longer, and I will be taking you home, Peter Yinsen Stark." It was the first time he had called the child anything but Peter, the first time he had thought of him as anything but Peter, but then there was really not much to think about.

If Steve was surprised, he didn't show it, but as Tony turned toward him a moment later, he found the man smiling at him.


	8. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot to be done before Peter can come home, and not all of it can be done by Pepper or even the most qualified lawyers. Clint and Bruce get to paint, Natasha argues but eventually relents in the face of the inevitable, and Phil may or may not be knitting tiny Captain America booties. Not everyone is convinced things will be all right, of course, not the least of which is Tony himself; however, that's what Steve is there for.

Pepper had to admit, when Tony first called her she thought it was an ill-thought prank.

She certainly wouldn't have put it past him to concoct such a story just to irritate her, given how atrocious his sense of propriety could be at times. In fact, she was fairly sure he had claimed the very thing once or twice for the purpose of distracting her. However, this time he had actual evidence to back up, a tiny human being lying in the hospital and struggling to gain a foothold on life.

There were many things she could have said to him, but none of them were quite as important as the child right now.

Thankfully, the procedure was not very complicated. The hospital had Tony on file as the father, and poor Mary did not appear to have any surviving relatives. A couple of phone calls was all it took to set the lawyers loose, after which Pepper could get to more urgent matters.

She did not think too much about the fact that she had the numbers for the best family lawyers on file, and had for years.

Of course, for the moment any urgent matters had to do with the baby as a matter of course. She needed to make sure he would have everything he needed, including the basic necessities Tony would probably not even think of. Not that Pepper herself was any kind of an expert, having no experience with child-rearing aside from some sarcastic comments involving Tony, but that was what she had a phone for. The call this time took longer than her rather simple missive for the lawyers, but by the end of it she had a very detailed list of all basic infant needs, which she then forwarded to a high-end store with prices high enough to include absolute discretion. Everything would come to light eventually, of course, but she could at least try to keep the matter from blowing up before they had everything more or less under control. This was going to be hectic enough as it was.

Her phone buzzed as soon as she set it down on her desk, this time with a message. She picked it up, frowning as she saw Tony's name. What could have happened since he last called her?

As it happened, there seemed to be no news, as the message held no words whatsoever. Instead, there was a picture. Pepper stifled a small gasp as she saw the tiny child, so very small and fragile.

After a second of marveling at just how small a human could be, she took note of the rest of the picture. There was the incubator, of course, almost scary in its clinical form, and next to it stood Steve. He was looking at the child with an intense expression on his face, almost as though he was afraid the baby would disappear if he looked away for a moment.

Pepper wondered if Tony had noticed the look.

She also wondered if Tony had noticed Steve sometimes looked at him in a very similar manner.

*

There was nothing good on TV.

Well, there might have been something tolerable on at least one of Stark's apparently infinite channels, but at the moment Bruce was in control of the remote so that complicated matters. Of course, he could have just found another TV to conquer for his own, but he couldn't really muster up the energy to do so. If it turned out he couldn't find anything worthwhile after all, it'd just be a waste of time, and he'd just managed to dig himself into a nice nest in the middle of some pillows on the couch. Maybe he could just turn his brain off. This cooking competition wasn't that bad, after all.

Of course, it was just as he was starting to root for one of the contestants that Tony showed up, a glint in his eyes that promised madness. There was also a smear of paint on the tip of his nose, which Clint wasn't able to interpret quite as easily. Maybe he'd been building a painting robot?

A mad painting robot?

"Ah, my favourite boys! How I've missed you." Tony walked up to the couch, throwing an arm around each of their shoulders. "Feel like a little manual labour?"

"Manual labour? With you? I thought you had man servants for that sort of thing."

"Aw, Birdie, you hurt me." Tony pouted. "Did you forget the part where I build my own suits? And those new arrows I was going to finish soon but will probably now leave for next week since that comment just totally killed my buzz?"

"Hey, that's not fair!" Clint protested. "You only ever do actual work in your workshop, and when you're in there you never let anyone else touch anything!"

"Not strictly true, but point. Now, though, I have some unrelated work, and I could use a couple of more workers." Tony paused. "There's shawarma in it for you if you help me out."

"Shawarma?" Bruce chuckled. "Well, I'm interested, but I'd like to hear what you need help with, first."

"Aw, and here I was thinking you trusted me." Tony sighed, finally standing back again. "I need to paint a room."

Clint gave him an incredulous gaze. "Paint a room? And you couldn't just pay someone to do that?"

"Well, it's kind of a meditative thing, you see. I need to think about something, so I figured I could use the paint job to focus my thoughts."

"So what do you need us for?"

"Well, I don't need to think quite that much." Tony shrugged. "You'd also get to hear my big news before Natasha."

"Big news? Why does that sound ominous?"

"Because you're a bastard with no sympathy or curiosity?" Tony glanced at the TV, where the cooking show was coming to an end. "Come on. You know you want to know. Besides, shawarma. Don't tell me you don't want any."

"Or I could just go and spend some time with my wonderful husband."

"Oh, yeah, about that." Tony took on a mischievous look. "He might have said he'd appreciate it if I stopped you from hovering around him for a few hours."

"He said that?" Okay, he was a little hurt. Maybe.

"Well, you do have a bad habit of hovering about whenever he shows up. I happen to know the only reason you’re here now is because he is taking a nap." Okay, so maybe he had been a bit overprotective. In his defense, he had plenty of reason to be.

"Come on, Clint." Bruce patted his shoulder. "If Tony lets us help with one of his projects, even if it's just a room, we shouldn't miss such a rare opportunity."

Well, obviously the geniuses were ganging up on him, meaning his choices were to either follow or soon find out that his ice cream tub had been rigged with snowball-throwing miniature robots or something equally ridiculous. So, with a heavy sigh, he finally got out of his nest.

"That shawarma better be damn good."

Following Tony's instructions, he went to change on a t-shirt that he wouldn't mind getting dirty. Perhaps he checked in on Phil, too, just a quick glance, but that obviously didn't count since he couldn't exactly avoid that, being in the bedroom. Besides, as soon as he had made sure Phil was sleeping peacefully, he headed over to where Jarvis led him.

Of course, the two geniuses were already there; somehow Bruce had managed to change as well, chatting with Tony as Clint stepped out of the elevator. Spotting him, Tony grinned and waved him over.

"Come on, this way," he announced, spinning on his heel and starting to walk down the corridor, toward his own bedroom as it appeared, except he continued on to another door. This one was an unused room, far as Clint knew anyway. "It shouldn't take too long between the three of us. I'm thinking plain white for all the walls, and I already covered the floor."

"Well, obviously you've done some planning at least." Bruce glanced around as they reached the room, its floor indeed covered with plastic, a few buckets of white paint standing in the middle. "I thought you'd pretty much finished decorating around here."

"Yes, well, things change." Tony shrugged, walking over to where he had a few paint brushes and rollers set aside. "I've also already bought the furniture, but I want to give those a more detailed paint job, so I thought it'd be the best to handle that in the workshop."

Clint knelt down to open one of the buckets. "Not to question your infinite wisdom," of course he was questioning it, "but wouldn't it be best to paint them in here? I mean, I'm not saying you're careless or anything, unless you're absolutely pissed at least, but hauling around freshly painted furniture seems to be practically begging for scuff marks."

"Oh, I'm not too worried about that." Of course he wasn't. Tony wasn't known for worrying about much of anything. "There's nothing terribly big, at least nothing that can't be taken apart and carried here in pieces."

"Pieces?" Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Has the great Tony Stark started to frequent Ikea, now?" There was a slightly teasing tone in his voice, and Clint found himself not for the first time wondering just how these two had become that kind of friends in the first place. Or any kind of friends, really, looking at all the teasing and bickering.

"Not likely." Tony snorted. "I've just been led to believe it's kind of traditional for cribs to be easy to take apart."

Clint's head whipped around at that, staring. However, as it took him a bit too long to find the words, it was Bruce who broke the silence in the end. "Crib?"

"Yeah." Okay, obviously fake nonchalance, because he saw that tiny hint of grin that was always there when Tony was revealing some grand surprise. "You know. The tiny beds with high sides that people put infant children in."

"I'm aware of the concept," Bruce said, his words slow. "However, I was unaware that you would have any need for one. You know, since they are intended for children and all."

"Oh, right! Didn't I tell you?" And now Tony was digging out his phone, and the grin on his face made it perfectly clear his so-called slip of the tongue had been entirely intended to lead up to this point. "Here~! My latest and greatest creation."

Clint got up to his feet and strode over, expecting to see something like a baby android, Tony was definitely insane enough for that. Instead his breath caught in his throat as he leaned closer and saw a photo of a child. An incredibly small human child lying in an incubator, a tube in his tiny nose.

"Tony," Bruce breathed next to Clint, disbelief clear in his voice. "Is that…"

"That's Peter." Despite the lingering grin, there wasn't a hint of joking in Tony's voice. "Little Peter Yinsen Stark. Unfortunately, his mother is not with us anymore, so it falls upon his poor old father to be prepared to care for him once he's cleared to leave the NICU."

"A child." Clint wasn't sure whether he should have laughed or cried, but he figured crying didn't fit his image and laughing would have been pretty impolite. "You've managed to father a child."

"Well, some would say the only wonder is that it didn't happen sooner." Tony shrugged. "I can't say I planned this, exactly, but since he's here now, it's kind of my job to look after him."

"How long have you known about this?" How the hell had Tony Stark of all people managed to keep such a thing secret for so long? He'd have expected him to freak out at the mere idea.

"About the fact that his mother got pregnant? Since before we located Coulson." He glanced at Bruce. "Yes, that's why I was so distracted. However, his mother was going to take care of him alone, I just arranged for financial support in exchange of her keeping him out of the spotlight."

"And then something went wrong." There was no question in Bruce's voice.

"Yeah." A grim look replaced the grin, now. "Imagine my surprise when the hospital calls me to tell that the kid's about to be born prematurely and his mother isn't expected to survive the complications."

"My god." Bruce looked pale, and Clint had to admit he wasn't feeling exactly wonderful, either. "What did you do?"

"What do you think? Grabbed the Captain for moral support, which by the way was because he was the only one home and awake and not because I wanted some good ol' forties insight on my illegitimate spawn problem, and headed to the hospital. Then I got the news I was indeed the only surviving parent and relative to this little boy who was currently using all his strength to keep doing this incredibly complicated process called breathing."

"Is this when you locked yourself up to watch old reels of your father?"

"Yeah." Tony sighed. "I spent a few days freaking out and thinking about what to do. Then I decided that given how much I hated my father for never caring for me, I would never forgive myself if I let my own son think he wasn't wanted."

"So. This is a nursery." Clint glanced around. "Is that why you want to paint it by hand? To prove that you care enough to do that?"

"More or less, yes. That, and to hopefully get my head around the fact this is really happening. I meant it when I said I needed to think." Tony turned the phone to look at the photo for a moment, himself, then tucked it into his pocket. "So. Shall we get started, gentlemen?"

Well, hell. There was shawarma in it.

Besides, he couldn't wait to get to tell Natasha.

*

"Are you an absolute idiot, Stark?"

"Well, technically, I'm a genius. Those are supposed to be mutually exclusive." Could you blame him for going on the defensive? He was currently being glared down by a Russian assassin. Who was sitting on a counter top in the kitchen and finishing the last bit of chocolate ice cream in the house, too. Like she wasn't evil enough already.

"Doesn't exactly work like that. You can be an engineering genius and still be an idiot in other things. As you have so amply demonstrated here."

"Look, however drunk I may have been, I know I used a condom. I'm not some fumbling teenager from an abstinence only school." Tony rolled his eyes. If he were that careless, he would have been in this situation ages ago.

"I never said anything about that." Natasha gave him a sharp glance. "No, I'm referring to your decision to become a single dad."

"So what would you have preferred? That I hook up with this almost complete stranger whose only connection to me is that I slept with her once? First, not happening, nope, no way, and second, she's kind of out of the picture." Hey, another person dead because of things he had done. What was one more, anyway?

"I didn't mean that as opposed to raising a kid together with someone else." Natasha rolled her eyes. "No, I'm just wondering why the hell you would keep the child in the first place."

Okay, that was definitely not what he had been expecting to hear. "Uh, hello? I spent half my life wishing my father had at least liked me. If I never accomplish anything else in my life, I want to at least prove that I can do that better than he did." Okay, so he had already accomplished quite a lot in his life, but that didn't take away from the sentiment.

"So this is your solution? Give the kid a life where he can't even sneeze without ending up in the tabloids, where he'll have to be followed by bodyguards day and night to avoid getting snatched, where all kinds of crazies will want to hurt him or steal him or kill him just because he's your son? You think that's the best possible life a child can have?"

Tony drew a deep breath. This he had been thinking about, over and over again. "No. I know it's not." There, he'd said it. "However, it's the best life I can offer a child. Not just this child, but any child of mine that could ever exist. Those were always going to be concerns if I ever decided to have an heir. Hell, those were always concerns in my childhood, and somehow, I made it through and became stable enough an adult they haven't locked me up yet, however much Obadiah may have tried. That's the reason I never planned to have kids, because I didn't want to subject anyone to that same life, but that's not the question anymore. The kid is here, and he needs me, so I'm trying to make the best out of a bad situation."

"Of course you are, except it's the best for you, not anyone else. You're only thinking about your own feelings."

"You know what? You're right." Tony stalked to the coffee maker, pouring himself a cup, knuckles white as he clutched it close. "Yes, I am only thinking about myself. I'm thinking about the little me who wondered what he'd done wrong to make his father hate him. I'm thinking about the child who tried to and did excel in everything, did things nobody was supposed to do at his age, just to hear even once his father saying he's proud of him. Yes, I'm thinking of myself and my own feelings all those years ago, and I'm thinking of my little son with a tube down his nose and too small to keep up his body heat, and yes, I'll rather pile all that shit on him than spend the rest of my life wondering if he's out there somewhere asking why he wasn't good enough to be loved."

Now Natasha at least had the decency to be quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, her tone was less hostile. "So you think you can be a good father?"

"Frankly? I think I'm going to be a fucking awful father. Hell, not like I had an example of how to do the things right. But even if I fuck it all up from the get go and he marches out when he's sixteen and never looks back, nobody's going to tell me I didn't even try."

"Right." Natasha gave him a serious gaze, eating another spoonful while she thought. "So. Let's assume you do this. You bring the baby home, you somehow stay sane through the night feedings and smelly diapers and endless bottles, and are not crying for help by the end of the week." Really, such confidence she had in him. "What are you going to do when we're called to defeat another bunch of aliens or some other threat?"

That… was actually a very good point. He supposed he would just have to employ some kind of a nanny until the child was old enough. It wasn't an ideal solution, but he figured as long as it was only out of necessity and not a way for him not to have to look at the kid, the little guy might not grow up hating him. Maybe. Hopefully.

"I'll handle that."

It was a rare treat, seeing Natasha of all people surprised. Then again, he supposed this was one of the very few people who could accomplish that, Tony thought as he spun around to look at none other than Agent Phil Coulson standing at the kitchen door. "You what?"

"If a situation occurs where everyone is required on the field, I can stay behind to care for the child." Coulson walked to the coffee maker to get himself a cup. His walk was still a far cry from his usual brisk, unaffected stride, but at least he was walking around without exhausting himself within ten feet.

"If something that bad is going on, we're definitely going to need you, too." Natasha's eyes were sharp on her former handler.

"True, but my job can be done from a distance. As long as I have Barton as my eyes on the field, I can coordinate everything over communications. Besides, you will have the Captain to handle field strategy. My immediate presence will not be necessary to such an extent that I couldn't also keep an infant alive for the duration of an average battle."

"Uh, wait. You do realize you're basically agreeing to babysit my spawn, right?" Because grateful though he was to have an ally in talking with Natasha, he really didn't want things to fall through later.

"Oh, obviously. You didn't expect to care for him all alone twenty-four hours a day for his first eighteen years, did you?" Coulson took a sip of his coffee. "You're going to need babysitters at various points anyway. I'm just pointing out that if everyone else is out on the field, I am going to fill that role by default."

"You're encouraging him, now." Natasha frowned.

"I see no reason not to." Coulson raised his eyebrows. "He has obviously made up his mind, presumably after carefully weighing his options. I don't think he expects to make it through without any difficulties or without making significant changes to his lifestyle. Frankly, if becoming a father will make Tony Stark at least pause before rushing into another mad adventure, I think it will be worth more than a few diaper changes."

"Still. You're literally volunteering to be the default go-to babysitter to a miniature Stark in the most stressful situations." Okay, now she was just grasping. She was basically repeating what he'd just said moments before. "He'll probably try to blow you up before he's three." …Okay, that was a new and very valid point.

"Natasha, sweetheart," Tony was mildly surprised Coulson was still breathing even after finishing the word, "how many years have I been Clint Barton's handler?"

"…You're probably over-qualified." She still didn't like the idea, that much was obvious, but then, it wasn't like Tony could blame her. Even he thought he was mad for doing this, and yes, probably an idiot, but he was going to do it anyway.

Luckily, sentimentality was one of the more socially acceptable motivations to keep a child.

"In any case, it is probably too early to worry about such things before little Peter has even made it home yet." Coulson gave him a faint smile. "I am going to knit him booties. For such a small thing, it's very important to keep him warm." And then, with that same almost imperceptible smile on his face and a cup of coffee in his hands, Coulson wandered out of the kitchen.

Tony glanced after him, then at Natasha. "Did you know he can knit?" Though frankly, he wasn't surprised.

"Can't say I did." Natasha paused. "Bet you twenty bucks they're going to have Captain America's colors."

Oh, his child was going to be ruined.

*

When Phil walked into the room he had taken over as an office space, Clint was crouched on top of the bookshelf.

This in itself was somewhat unusual, as Clint tended to prefer more steady places, but it was nothing too alarming. What did catch his attention, though, was Natasha apparently paying very close attention to his position.

"That okay?" Clint asked, before hopping down to the ground. There was, Phil noticed, a piece of tape sticking to his hair, and a crafts knife stuck under one of his arm bands.

"Passable within our parameters." Natasha was sitting on the ground, hunched over something Phil couldn't see from the door. "Do you think we can get the others to model for us?"

"Probably not without giving it away that we're working on something." Clint stood up, then grinned as he saw Phil. "Hi, baby!"

"Should I ask what you're doing or just back away to gain some plausible deniability?" As though he would do that. Someone had to keep an eye on these two.

"A baby gift." Natasha's tone was one of utmost seriousness.

"Oh? For young Peter, or is there something else going on that I should be aware of?"

"Well, Stark seems to have made up his mind, regardless of the fact that he's clearly locked out of it at the moment and can't find the keys. So, if he's going to be idiotic enough to bring an infant in the middle of this crowd, we figured it'd be the polite thing to do to have some kind of an offering."

"So we went out and bought a baby mobile," Clint added, pointing at the object in front of Natasha. "Only, they only had boring kinds, so we're customizing it."

"Now this sounds hazardous." He walked closer to have a proper look. "Does this have something to do with you trying to bring down the furniture?"

"Well, we found these." Clint grinned, picking up something small and holding it up for his inspection. Leaning closer, Phil found himself looking at a miniature figure of Iron Man. "They have these for all the Avengers. They're fully poseable, too, so we figured we'd put them in the appropriate positions."

"Plus this." Natasha picked up a small, more generic figurine in roughly the same scale, a man in a dark suit and sunglasses. "That's you."

"I get to be included? I'm flattered." And he really was, plus a little bit amused. "So you're building a mobile out of these?"

"Yeah. We got one of the more generic ones, with all the planets and a sun in the middle. We're taking off the planets and attaching one of us in place of each of them."

"Even with me, there's only seven of us, though," Phil pointed out, kneeling down to look at the work in progress. Most of the planets had already been severed from their cords, leaving only a bare white structure with white strings hanging from each spoke. "Is that supposed to be the sun in the middle?"

"That's the sun, yup. We're going to tape an A over it, in the same font as the one outside the tower. For the Avengers, that is." Clint gave him an excited grin. "And it's eight."

"We found another unofficial figurine we can include in the line-up," Natasha explained in response to Phil's questioning gaze. "A generic scientist guy with glasses and a white coat. Brings it up to an even eight."

"Ah, so you're including both Bruce and Hulk." It kind of made sense, in a strange way that would only work within the walls of this Tower. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Well, you could help us in finding good positions for each of them," Clint said, pointing at where the Black Widow and Hawkeye had been set to characteristic poses, the rest of the dolls lying around haphazardly. "You have data on everyone, after all."

"I believe I can do that." He'd have to ask where they had bought the figurines at some point. He just had to have a Captain America one for himself. And one of Clint, of course. "How are you going to attach them to the mobile?"

"We've been careful in removing the planets, and left a little bit of each that we can then glue to the figurines. Gluing plastic to plastic should be firm enough that they don't fall on the little guy's head."

"That reminds me, pass the knife, Clint." Natasha reached out a hand toward him. "I still need to cut off Uranus."

"Oh, you just keep saying that, yet it never happens." Phil echoed Natasha's snort with a roll of his eyes as he took the Captain figure and started twisting its small limbs, trying to find the perfect position for the toy.

It would do good for the child to learn to recognize the heroes early on.

*

Natasha had to admit the nursery wasn't half bad.

Of course, she had rather expected it to be passable at the very least; Tony certainly had enough resources to throw at such things. However, she was rather pleasantly surprised as she walked into the room. There was still the faintest hint of fresh paint smell in the air, the walls a crisp white with decorative borders circling the top. She was vaguely amused to see Tony had chosen a rocket print, with tiny stars on the curtains to match the theme.

"You're already thinking of sending him to space?"

Tony spun around from where he had been standing beside a crib, a grin on his face. "Pretty sure he's too young for that for a long time yet," he chuckled. "It just seemed like an appropriately neutral theme. Didn't want to start throwing stereotypes around so early."

"Well, maybe he'll turn out to be a rocket scientist and actually make people fly higher than you." She walked closer, holding up the mobile. "I thought it would be the best to start indoctrination early."

"What is that?" Tony blinked, taking a closer look at her offering. "Is that us? On a mobile?"

"Indeed. Apparently there isn't a nursery decoration line for the Avengers brand yet, so Clint and I had to get creative." She walked over to the crib, pausing as she saw the round light embedded to one end. "Is that an arc reactor?"

"Just some leds behind a spare arc reactor top. Much safer and looks more or less the same. I do have some sense, thanks." He stepped aside to let her get close enough to attach the mobile to the end of the crib. "So, is this your way of giving your blessing to my insanity?"

"I figured there's no way of talking you out of it, so I should try to adjust." Natasha shrugged, focused on making sure the mobile was properly secured. The last thing she needed was having it fall on baby Stark's head. "You do realize you're basically setting yourself up to being used as a night light, making the kid used to the shape?"

"It can't be that bad. Besides, I'm kind of used to it already. The other day I caught Steve using the reactor light to sketch while we were supposed to be watching a movie."

"That is unexpectedly sneaky of him." Though the more unexpected part was the implication that Steve had been close enough to Tony to use the glow to read by, and Tony hadn't taken notice of the closeness.

"You're telling me. He also managed to worm his way in helping me with painting the crib, just by hanging around when I was working on it." Tony patted the edge of the crib, bringing her attention to the tiny figures painted on its surface. "I'm sure you couldn't tell, but he painted the people."

"I see we weren't alone in our ideas of indoctrination." Her lips twitched as she looked at the tiny Avengers flying and leaping all around the familiar image of a New York skyline. She could even spy the silhouette of a miniature Coulson standing on top of a building close to the front.

"Oh, you know Steve. All about the team spirit." Tony chuckled. "At least he let me design and paint the accurate skyline myself."

"How very gracious of him." She turned on the mobile to try it. The light in the middle shone gently, casting an 'A' shadow on the bed while the small heroes circled it with a soft chime. "There. If nothing falls on his head, I'd call that a success."

"I love how my poor son's going to be staring at Clint's ass, with how he's crouching there." He poked the miniature Hawkeye with a careful fingertip, making it swing a bit from side to side. "Though I suppose it's good enough practice since he's going to be looking up at everyone for quite a while before he grows up."

"And even then, if he takes after you." Natasha allowed herself a smirk.

"Hey! I'm not that short!"

"I know you aren't. It's just that you stand next to Steve so often, it's hard to remember that." At least it was good enough of an excuse to tease him.

"Choices, choices. Should I hope he grows up big and tall to get away from all this cruelty, or that he stays shorter than me?"

"I'd say it's rather too early to worry about any of that before you've even brought him home."

"Yeah, that might be true." Tony's fingers curled around the edge of the grip, tension clear in the lines of his shoulders. "I just hope I won't fuck this up."

"Don't worry, we'll all be there to kick your ass if it seems you're going to fail."

"Is that a promise?" And, damn, Stark should not have sounded so… needy.

"Don't worry," she said, because right now, any snide remarks would have been anything but helpful. "We seem to have a bad habit of standing by our team, no matter what we have to face."

Even if she suspected it would have been much easier to face an alien invasion than one tiny little Stark about to change everything.

*

Tony was getting tired.

He would have never admitted it, of course, but Steve could see it by now. It wasn't like his usual exhaustion during a run of manic all-nighters and caffeine-fueled miracles, but a slow, steady creep of shadows under his eyes, a deeper frown between his brows than usual. It was clear what was the cause of that, too, would have been clear even to a blind man. Honestly, it amazed Steve that Tony stayed as close to normal as he did, with everything he was doing. Between his usual duties with SI, the ongoing negotiations about the Avengers and their limits and laws, making sure he had everything ready for Peter, and sneaking off to the hospital as often as he could without alerting the tabloids to something strange being afoot, Tony was stretched thin even on the best of days.

It would get better, of course. Pepper had already made it very clear that she would be easing up on Tony's workload for SI once he had a child to look after, whether he liked it or not, and Phil assured Steve they were nearing their final stretch in the negotiations with SHIELD and the WSC and other related parties. The reports from the hospital were encouraging, too: Peter was growing stronger every day, and would soon be well enough to be brought home. The paperwork was already done with, thanks to Pepper and some very efficient lawyers. Peter was Tony's son, and nobody could question that and hope to succeed.

Steve had first thought Tony would relax a little once he had everything set up for Peter, but he should really have known better. Tony, being Tony, seemed to have channeled most of his anxiety into the planning and painting and assembling and the thousand other little tasks involved with setting up a living space for a new, living person. Now that there was nothing left for him to do save wander about the nursery a dozen times a day and checking everything was up to his standards, he was growing rather… twitchy, for lack of a better word. And a twitchy Tony Stark was, in general, not a good thing for his surroundings.

Right now Tony was channeling his nervous energy into some tinkering, claiming to be upgrading the mobility of Dummy's arm. As far as Steve could tell, he had made the upgrades approximately three hours ago and had been simply amusing himself since. Dummy was awfully patient, though, and it gave Steve a great opportunity to draw them both at once. He rarely got the opportunity, since either Dummy or Tony or both was always moving.

"That's kind of weird, you know."

"What?" Steve blinked, surprised that Tony had spoken up. "What is weird?"

"The fact you're still drawing me." Tony didn't look up, eyes still focused on the opened-up joint in front of him. "I've hardly even moved for, what, an hour?"

"It's been two hours since you got some coffee." Steve shrugged. "Besides, it's actually better for drawing. I can actually get down some detail now without worrying about you suddenly starting running about or fussing with something."

"Surely there's more interesting things to draw, though."

"Not really." It was true enough. No matter how much of Tony he drew, he could never quite capture him the way he'd have liked. There was something about his intense gaze when he was focusing on something that Steve had tried to draw countless times by now and never quite succeeded.

"Your life must be very boring, then." And how could Tony say such things, when he otherwise seemed to be very well aware of his own worth?

"Why, I think it's quite exciting." Steve smiled. "Besides, I want to get some drawings of you alone before all your time is taken over by Peter."

"I suppose that's fair enough." There was a hint of a smile on Tony's face, just for a brief moment, before he turned back to Dummy. "While I have to make sure my robotic babies are all up to date before I start working on the upkeep for the human one."

"That sounds like a good plan." And as it gave Tony something to do with his hands, something he enjoyed at that, it might help him relax some of that tension in his hunched shoulders.

Until that happened, Steve would be here, watching over him.

*

Bruce liked to think he knew Tony quite well.

It was perhaps a rather proud assumption, given that Tony was quite happy to claim that nobody knew him or understood him, nobody ever could truly grasp the span of his genius, now don't even think about it I am beyond human comprehension. Of course, Bruce also knew better than to listen to Tony when he got on his rambling moods, so he ignored most such claims. That policy allowed him to feel quite confident in his knowledge of Tony Stark after all the time he had spent living with the man.

For all that he had seen Tony through some quite low times and a few nigh-manic peaks, he was sure he had never seen such a look on Tony's face. His expression was nothing short of pure wonder, his eyes wide as though he had just downed his entire daily caffeine dose at once. They were locked on the tiny baby in the crib, hands resting on the edge. His knuckles were white from the strength of his grip, Bruce noted; it was the kind of thing he paid attention to, tension being something of an important issue for him.

"He's so small," Tony murmured, apparently finally remembering he wasn't alone. The team had agreed it would not be good to crowd the nursery at once, so turns had to be set. Steve had helped Tony bring the child home, so it was Bruce's turn now to see little Peter, even if he was paying rather more attention to the child's father.

"I've heard that's a common features in babies." Tony took one of his hands off the edge of the crib, and Bruce noticed it was trembling slightly as he reached it toward Peter. So that was why he was grasping the edge so tightly. "Are you all right?"

"What?" Tony blinked, looking up at him for a moment. "Oh, yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, this is quite a major change." Bruce stepped closer, watching the mobile slowly turning above the baby's head. He smiled faintly at the sight of the separate figurines for himself and the Hulk. "And even if you have been preparing for it for a while, it can still be overwhelming to actually have him here at last."

"That's ridiculous, though. People have babies every day."

"And I'm sure it's a big change for most of them." Bruce shook his head. "You don't have to be perfect right away, you know."

"Except I do." Tony turned his gaze back to the baby. "I have to be the perfect father for him. I owe him that much."

"Nobody is perfect, no matter how they try. You'll only wear yourself out if you aim for that." Not that Tony wasn't an expert in setting himself unreasonable expectations and then exceeding them. "I promise you, though, you're going to be more than good enough."

"Are you sure?" And that wasn't right. Bruce had never heard Tony sound so unsure of himself. Even right after Pepper had left it, he had never sounded so… fragile.

"Positive." He reached to pat Tony's shoulder. "You've already done everything you can for him, and I know you'll continue to do so."

"Except I don't actually know how to be a good father. Not like I had any good examples around while I was growing up."

"I'm not sure anyone on this dysfunctional excuse of a team did, but between us, we should have enough bad examples to rule out all the worst mistakes." Which, okay, was not perhaps the most reassuring thing to say, but Tony would like honesty better than false promises. "You don't have to do this alone, you know."

"So I've been told. And yet, when I inevitably screw up, I'm the one he's going to grow up hating."

"It's going to be quite a while before he's able to hate anyone. You'll figure it out before then." Or at least they might be able to reassure Tony of that. "Have you eaten anything today? You look awfully pale."

"I had a burger this morning. Haven't been very hungry."

"You should try to eat something, though." Bruce paused. Dragging Tony out of the nursery to eat might not work, with him so focused on Peter right now. "How about I go and ask Steve to bring you something to eat?"

"You're only saying that because you know Steve's going to nag at me until I actually eat it."

"Oh, I think there are others who would nag you, I just think Steve would be the most successful." Bruce gave him a small smile. "Any particular preferences?"

"I want bacon. Anything with bacon's fine."

"Bacon it is, then." Bruce made for the door, then paused, looking back to where Tony was still standing beside the crib, wonder and fear and amazement on his pale face all at once, shaded with a hint of exhaustion.

He could only hope the fear would make room for the rest.


	9. Exhausting Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Peter home, Tony gets to see first-hand just how exhausting being a new parent can be. The others also get to try their hand at babysitting, because a sleep-deprived Iron Man is not a good idea. Fury is finally willing to let go of the reins, but the biggest shock comes, as usual, from Tony -- to a national audience, too.

"So." The sharp clicking of high heels echoed through the corridors of the tower in a rather satisfying manner. "Where is he?"

"You looking for Tony?" Pepper was quite proud of the fact that she didn't jump when Clint was just suddenly there right next to him. She hadn't heard him approach at all.

"Well, mostly Peter," she admitted. "I have only seen pictures so far, and I thought it was only right I get a chance at making his acquaintance after I've put so much effort into getting him here."

Clint gave her a grin. "Well, for either Stark, the answer's the same," he said. "Tony was playing with his tablet in the nursery last I saw him. You know how to get there?"

"I'm sure Jarvis can show me the way." She smiled and nodded at him. "Thank you."

"Just shout if you need someone to put something sharp through Tony. I'd be happy to oblige." The grin he gave before disappearing again was mostly teasing. Mostly.

She was glad Tony had such good friends.

Jarvis was, as always, only too happy to help, as it turned out Clint had been right. Tony was sprawled out in a chair next to a baby's crib, looking over schematics on his tablet. At the sound of Pepper's approach, he looked up and gave her a half-smile.

"Hi, gorgeous. Come to see the most gorgeous brat on the planet?"

"Actually, I was hoping to see Peter." She gave him a smile, walking up to the crib. "He is… tiny."

"Everyone says that." Tony shrugged, though he did set his tablet down in his lap. "Not very entertaining, though. He eats, poops, and sleeps, and that's it. I've been informed there's going to be an upgrade to a more interactive form of software some time in the future, but at the moment he's looking pretty much like my first attempts at Dummy."

"Appropriate enough, then." She raised her eyebrows at the mobile and the night light, but didn't say anything. "Actually, I did have some news to bring as well."

"News. News is rarely good," Tony sighed. "Be careful with that stuff, will you? I've got a bad heart, you know, and with all that's been going on I haven't had time to update my will yet."

"I will be brief." Pepper took a deep breath. "First off, all the papers concerning Peter are in order. Not that I expected it to be difficult, with you being his actual father and all, but it's nice to have the confirmation, anyway."

"That's good." Tony gave her a nod that was as serious as though they had been discussing domestic terrorism and why that meant Tony had to fly out to get in the line of fire. "For all that he smells sometimes, I'll be damned if I let anyone take him away."

"I know." When Tony committed to something, he gave it his all. Often to his own detriment, but hopefully that wouldn't be the case here. "There is something else, too."

"Oh?" Now, Tony frowned, doubtlessly expecting something bad. Not that she could blame him. She'd delivered more than her fair share of bad news over the years. "Out with it, Miss Potts."

"The negotiations with the WSC are more or less done." There was shock on his face, but it wasn't the bad kind. "There's still some paperwork and legal hoops to get through, but most of the wrinkles have been ironed out. You should be getting a call from Fury soon enough to confirm it."

"So we're finally getting away from them." Tony nodded again. "Good. If I'm going to fly off, I'd rather know why and against what instead of just receiving orders."

"So you're still not going to stop." Not that it surprised her, but she still felt… disappointed. And satisfied, in some small part of her that she was not entirely proud of. She should have hoped he would stop, would not endanger himself when there was someone so vulnerable counting on him to come home, but at the same time, she knew it was the only way possible. For all the risks, giving up Iron Man would have cost Tony so much more than just his physical health.

She just hoped that Peter, once he was old enough to understand what was going on, would be better at waiting than she had been.

"No." Tony shook his head. "I couldn't. For Peter's sake, I couldn't. Without the suit, I never would have had any hope of becoming something who deserves to be his father."

"And are you?" It was a cruel question, but she had to ask it nevertheless. "Someone who deserves that?"

"Hell if I know. But I owe it to him to try and find out."

"Right." She looked down at the baby, so small and innocent. "Someone will let you know if you're failing."

"I know." And now he gave her a smile, as close to a genuine smile as she had seen from him in ages. "I'm rather counting on that."

Oh, yes. Very good friends, the ones he had.

She was fortunate he still counted her among them.

*

There was nothing good on TV.

Of course, this was something of a tautology; rather, it was a matter of note if there was something worth watching. Mostly Clint took care of his mind-numbing needs through Jarvis's apparently infinite capabilities for streaming something he actually felt like watching instead of limiting himself to the selection of Tony's admittedly impressive number of channels. However, there was something almost meditative in the simple process of lying on a couch and flipping through the channels without anything specific in mind.

It might have been more entertaining if he could have kept the volume above a whisper, but he supposed that was the price you had to pay for using Tony's entertainment system while his baby was in the room.

Not that Peter seemed to be easily disturbed, which was a relief. It was rarely quiet in the Tower, and while they did try to avoid things like excessive shouting and gunfire in his presence, even Phil had admitted it would have been a vain effort to try to keep everyone silent whenever Peter needed a nap. Steve had actually advocated the opposite; it would be easier, he had reasoned, to teach him to sleep through a reasonable amount of noise from the start. Clint, not being very knowledgeable in the manner of infant care, was all too glad to go with whatever opinion let him still keep doing his semi-regular chases through the corridors with Natasha and Scarecrow.

Excessively loud noises, though, still felt under a ban, especially unpredictable ones such as what one might expect while channel-surfing. Therefore, with Tony on another couch and Peter in a bassinet next to him, Jarvis kept the volume so low, Clint was tempted to request subtitles.

Finding absolutely nothing of interest, he sighed and let the remote control fall to his side. "So, I've been meaning to ask."

"Hm?" Tony looked up from whatever he was doing on his tablet. "No, you may not have any weapons on Scarecrow. I promised Agent not to weaponize her without his express permission."

"Not what I had in mind, though I'll be sure to pout anyway." Clint stretched himself. "Not that he can understand anything yet, but what's your policy on swearing around the kid? I know you vetoed Cap's suggestion of a swear jar, he was complaining about it enough this morning, though Nat thought that's mostly because you never carry cash."

"Negotiable." Tony shrugged. "I'm not about to ban swearing outright because that would be fucking ridiculous. The kid's going to hear bad words eventually anyway, and the more we try to cover them up, the more mysterious and tempting it all seems. Better a kid who swears like a sailor when something goes wrong than one whose every other word is four letters long."

"Works for me." Hey, it was better than limiting his vocabulary to 'fiddlesticks' and 'poppycock' for the next fifteen years. "Any special concerns?"

"No slurs. And with that I mean that if you can't explain to the combined forces of Pepper, Steve, and Rhodey why the thing in question is bad, it's definitely out. Not that I expected you'd be trying to raise my poor son into a racist little homophobe, but, you know. Just so you know."

"I'm sure that between the lot of us we can teach the kid how to swear our ears off without any sexist, racist, homophobic, or religiously insensitive undertones." Clint smirked. "Which probably means he'll be more diplomatic than you are by the time he turns five."

"Well, that's a given. Remember, SHIELD turned to me when they wanted to make sure to piss someone off." Tony looked like he was about to say something else, but he was cut off by a yawn. "Damn. Seems like I need to get more coffee."

"Or, you know, you could take a nap," Clint pointed out. "I can keep an eye on the spawn while you do, assuming you don't wake up the moment he screams."

"Nah, too much to do. I want to get these schematics to Jarvis for manufacturing by the end of the day, so caffeine will have to do." Tony got up from the couch, setting his tablet aside. "Though if you could watch him while I pop into the kitchen, I can bring you a cup, too."

"Deal." Though he still suspected a nap might have been the better option, but hey, when had Tony ever listened to reason? Sure, he looked tired, but he had looked tired pretty much ever since he had brought Peter home.

Clint may not have been an expert on babies, but even he knew that new parents were always tired, but that kids were only small for a little while. Tony was notoriously bad about sleeping anyway, surely he could make it through a few months of short nights.

At least, Clint certainly hoped so. He did not particularly want to be around a sleep-deprived Iron Man.

*

It wasn't unusual for the kitchen to be already occupied by the time Steve finished his morning workout and headed there to get breakfast. Natasha was often up early, so he would sometimes find her there, destroying this brand or that of Tony's overly sugary cereals. Phil and Clint would often be there too, Phil flicking through documents on his tablet while Clint made pancakes for anyone who happened to come by. Bruce might be there, stubbornly reading a newspaper despite all of Tony's snide comments, sticking to his argument that the crossword was what really made it worthwhile anyway.

Today Tony was there as he came up, seated at the kitchen island, nibbling on some toast. Peter was dozing off in a baby basket on the floor next to him, looking incredibly tiny. Steve couldn't help but smile as he peeked down at the child on his way to the fridge. "Good morning, Tony, Peter."

"Mornin'." Tony's response was a bit mumbled, which Steve put down to his being in his thoughts. It sometimes seemed Tony was always thinking enough for two or more, his mind hopping right ahead of anyone else. It was almost endearing, the way he could get suddenly distracted by some errant thought or lost in his contemplations as though nothing could be as fascinating as whatever was going on in his head. And, given some of the things that Steve had seen coming out of it, he wasn't sure he could deny the veracity of that.

He got out a frying pan and some bacon and eggs, starting to prepare his breakfast. Come to think of it, a piece of toast really wasn't much of a breakfast, even when chased by huge amounts of coffee. "You want me to make some for you, too?"

He waited a moment, but didn't get an answer. Thinking he'd just been ignored in favor of some fascinating theory, he repeated his question, a bit louder this time. Again, he was left without a response.

Chuckling to himself, Steve turned around to try and get Tony's attention. Instead of finding him staring off to the space, though, he found him slumped over the counter, motionless, his half-eaten toast on the floor. Cold fear gripped Steve's heart as he rushed closer. "Tony!"

The first thing he ascertained was that there was, thank God, a pulse. In fact, nothing in Tony seemed to imply there was anything the matter with him, aside from the sudden collapsing. Frowning, Steve shook him by the shoulders, calling his name again.

"Mmm… wha?" Tony blinked blearily up at him. "Somethin' wrong?"

"You just collapsed, Tony." Steve frowned, peering at him closely as though that would give him some answers. "Are you sick? Injured? Is something the matter?"

"Nah. 'M fine." Tony shook his head, pushing himself up from the table with what appeared to be great effort. "Just tired, that's all."

"Tony, I've seen you be tired." Steve set his hands on his hips, feeling almost like a scolding mother. "You've never fallen asleep on your food before, though."

"Yeah, well, usually when I'm tired, I eventually crash." Tony gave a big yawn, running a hand through his hair. "Haven't exactly had the opportunity lately."

"…How long has it been since you last had a full night's sleep?" Now that he thought about it, the signs had been there for a while — occasionally spacing out, the dark circles around his eyes, being unusually snappy. He just hadn't paid much attention because, well, Tony did have the tendency to run himself ragged every now and then. It had never before gotten this bad, though.

"Dunno. How long since junior came home?"

"Wait. You mean you haven't slept properly since then?" Of course. It had never even crossed his mind, Steve realized, now feeling rather stupid for it. Of course having a newborn baby to care for would cut into Tony's sleep.

"Yeah. 'S fine, though. I'm used to odd hours."

"Except like you just said, usually you get to crash every now and then. Catch up on the sleep you keep missing." Steve shook his head. "You haven't been able to do that for three weeks now."

"Doesn't matter." Tony shrugged. "From what I've heard, that's pretty normal for new parents. Someone has to check on the kid when he cries, and, well, he is my responsibility."

"I'm pretty sure most new parents who are solely responsible for the child don't spend their daytimes around things that are likely to explode, burn through metal, or otherwise injure or maim someone." God. How had he not realized this before? Slightly tired Tony was bad enough when he was just shuffling around the house. What if he made some kind of a terrible mistake during battle because he was just a tad too tired, his reflexes just a bit too slow?

Terrible images of Tony plummeting from the sky filled Steve's mind and he couldn't help but shudder. He couldn't let that happen. Not now, not ever.

"That's why I have JARVIS to babysit me. I've set up parameters to stop me from operating anything dangerous if I'm too badly drunk, drugged, or sleep-deprived. Don't exactly fancy a repeat of my fiasco of a birthday party." Tony pushed himself up. "I just need some coffee and I'll be fine."

"Tony, you know that's not true." Steve frowned, setting a hand on Tony's shoulder. "You need to sleep."

"Yeah, I know. Why'd you think I've developed the lovely habit of crashing for a day or two after too many sleepless nights?" Tony yawned. "Sadly, the kid seems quite happy to get his sleep during the day while I have other things to do, so there's no saving my nights for the foreseeable future. So, you gonna let me at the coffee or not?"

"No." His hand stayed firm. "You need sleep, Tony, not caffeine. Get to bed."

"Yeah, no can do, sweetie. I've got a bit of code I have to finish, and a kid to keep an eye on. No time for sleep, so sorry, time just flies by so fast."

"That wasn't a suggestion." Steve frowned. "Your code can wait, and I will personally look after Peter. You're going to sleep, and I won't accept any protests. Understood?"

"Yeah, not happening." Tony tried to sidestep him, but Steve wasn't going to let that happen. "Come on, Cap. I've got stuff to do, places to be."

"You have sleep to catch up on. This is not negotiable."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, it is. At least it definitely should be. I'm thinking totally negotiable, and my proposal is no way in hell."

"I can carry you to bed and keep you there by force, you realize." Steve fixed him a serious gaze. "I could probably carry you under one arm and have Peter's basket in my other hand so I don't even have to leave him unattended."

"You wouldn't do that."

"Watch me." Steve took his hand from Tony's shoulder, but didn't move any further away. "You were about to fall asleep at the table. There is absolutely no way I'm going to let you work, never mind care for your child."

"I am actually capable of caring for a baby, you realize." Tony looked somewhat affronted.

"I know you are. When you are awake, anyway. What if you actually do fall asleep, and in your exhaustion miss him crying?" A flicker of uncertainty crept on Tony's face, gone as soon as it came, but Steve caught it nevertheless. That was all the leverage he needed. "You said it yourself, Tony. You can't just keep going until you crash, anymore, because there's someone very small and vulnerable depending on you. And that's why you have to take care of yourself so you are actually in a condition to be there for Peter when he needs you."

"I don't have the time." At this point, though, Tony's voice was rather quiet.

"Then you will make the time." Steve softened his tone. "I know you feel responsible for him and want to take care of him. And that's a good thing, Tony, it really is. But it doesn't mean you have to do every second of it alone."

"He's my child. I'm not about to shoulder him off to someone else." 'Not like was done to me', the unspoken words hung in the air between them.

"And you aren't. I'm just taking care of him for a bit so you can get rest. That's what family is for, Tony."

"I don't have a family." So why did he sound so uncertain? "Haven't had one for a couple of decades, now."

"Too bad, you have one now. And as part of your caring and responsible family I'm telling you to get to bed before I lose my patience entirely."

For a moment, Tony just stared at him. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Steve smiled. "Great." He stepped aside. "Don't worry about Peter, I'm sure I can handle him for a bit. Just get yourself some rest, okay?"

"I want to make it clear this is under duress." And yet Tony was walking to the door.

"Duly noted, Mr. Stark." Steve pauses. "I'm going to have Jarvis check that you actually make it to your bed, you realize."

"I was planning to keep you updated in any case, Captain Rogers," Jarvis' crisp voice informed them both. "It will be my foremost priority to monitor that he gets sufficient rest."

Tony murmured something that sounded very much like "traitor" as he shuffled out of the kitchen. At least he was still moving, though.

Steve waited until Jarvis confirmed that Tony had made it to his bedroom, collapsed on the bed, and been out like a light immediately, before he started devising plans for fixing the situation. He had no illusions that his babysitting Peter for one nap, however long a nap it might turn out to be, would make everything better. The current system — if one could call it such — was not working, and had to be turned into one that did. For that, he needed the others' help.

Tony was lucky that he had such a large family.

*

"So, we are all agreed on the solution?" Bruce glanced around their impromptu meeting room, also known as the living room. Steve had called them together and more or less led the discussion, but Bruce had been the one taking notes, so he had to be the one to check that the details were correct.

"Sounds good enough to me." Clint shrugged. "Can't believe it took this long for him to crack. I mean, you'd expect the guy to be the living equivalent of a zombie with a schedule like that."

"That's where the coffee and years of experience come in." Natasha was curled up in an armchair, looking far more elegant than could have possibly been fair for someone wearing fuzzy slippers. "If there is one thing Tony Stark knows how to do, it's faking that he's all right."

"I still can't believe I didn't notice it sooner." Steve sighed, adjusting Peter at his arm. The baby was happily asleep, but Steve couldn't seem to bring himself to set him down. "I should have realized he can't possibly be getting the rest he needs."

"Tony never gets the rest he needs, I'm afraid," Bruce sighed. "That's why he crashes more or less regularly whenever his body can't take it any more. Which brings us to our solution."

"It seems quite reasonable to me." Phil somehow managed to make even a pair of jeans and the t-shirt he had clearly borrowed from Clint seem all official and stern, even if he was currently leaning against his husband, looking more relaxed than Bruce suspected most people ever saw him. "We all take care of Peter for one night to let him catch up on sleep, after which we will take turns to care for the baby every other night until further notice. Tony still bears the main responsibility, but also gets sufficient chances for sleep."

"And we have a shared turn, because Phil's the default mission babysitter and the kid's going to wake us both up anyway." Clint grinned.

"I hope you realize that means I'm going to let you take main responsibility for the night calls." Phil's tone was perfectly calm. "After all, I'll be fulfilling my babysitting duties at rather more stressful times."

"Like you'd let me get away with anything else." Clint snorted. "So, does this count as Steve's turn?"

"No. I'm going to take a night turn as well; it's only fair."

"You can set him down at some point, you realize." Natasha raised her eyebrows. "If you're planning to hold him until tomorrow morning, you might run into problems."

"I know, and I'm not. I just feel like holding him right now, that's all."

"Oh, I see." Clint grinned. "All this is just one big scheme to enable you to steal the kid. Very devious of you, Cap. I'm almost proud."

"Because Tony being awake is obviously the only thing that's kept me from kidnapping his son until now." Steve seemed almost amused at the notion. "You got me, Hawkeye. When you wake up tomorrow, Peter and I will be long gone."

"That would be most unwise of you." Phil shook his head, the very picture of calmness. "I would be forced to hunt you down if you decided to kidnap my godson, and that would not end well."

"Godson?" Natasha quirked a small, very attractive smile. "You do realize you can't just claim kids as your own, right?"

"I'm not claiming anything." Phil returned her smile with a quirked eyebrow. "Tony merely asked me to be one of Peter's godparents because, and I quote, 'since you're apparently impossible to kill, you're the one person most likely to outlive me out of this self-destructive bunch.'"

"You know, he's not altogether wrong." Clint's lips twitched. "Well, except for Cap. He's got that whole super soldier thing going on, and biologically, you're old enough to be his dad."

"There are so many things wrong with that statement, I don't even know where to begin." Phil shook his head. "Starting with the fact that my mother flirted with him two decades before I was born."

Bruce chanced a glance at Steve, but all he found there was a slightly wistful smile, not sadness or pain. Well, that was good. He hoped. "So." Better change the subject for now, though. "Since we're all in agreement of just what we should do to keep Tony from blowing us all up in his exhausted idiocy, perhaps we should now figure out the actual babysitting roster?"

That seemed to distract everyone, even Steve. Though then, he was coming to notice it was often easy to distract Steve with just about anything connected to Tony.

That might need some more thorough investigation at a later time.

*

The worst thing about the whole babysitting scheme was, Natasha was getting bored.

Of course, it was mainly because she had elected to stay awake, which she knew was her own choice; Jarvis would certainly have made sure she woke up if Peter needed her, had she gone to bed instead. However, she had decided to stay awake, figuring it was easier than being woken at regular intervals through the night. Not that she didn't have experience of such, but if she had a choice, she might as well be more comfortable. Besides, unlike Tony, she could catch up on sleep during the day. While she wasn't exactly idle, she wasn't even partly responsible for a multi-billion dollar company.

The downside to her plan was that it left her sitting in the dimly lit nursery, all but twiddling her thumbs while Peter slumbered on until his next feeding. She had planned to entertain herself with a book, but apparently Clint had decided he did not require permission to borrow her tablet, leaving its battery utterly empty. She would definitely let him know just how badly mistaken he was later, but for now, all she could do was try to pass the time until the battery was sufficiently charged for her to get back to her novel.

Everything was quiet in the nursery, with only the soft sound of the mobile turning catching her ears. It cast a soft light over little Peter, the glow echoed in the mock arc reactor at the head of the crib, washing the nursery in soft shadows. Peter did not seem to mind, tiny hands curled up on his pillow on either side of his head, eyes closed against the intrusion of light. He was still too small for her to honestly claim to find any actual resemblance on his little face, but despite her reluctance to even consider such things so early she had to admit there was something very Stark-like about the way he drew his tiny dark brows into a frown in his sleep.

A little Stark. Wasn't that exactly what the world needed.

It was still much better than two Tony Starks, she mused, getting up from her seat and walking to the crib. Peter had the definite benefits of being less mobile and rather more pleasant to look at, and for all that he seemed to be equally convinced that the world revolved around his needs, at least he had the excuse of not having yet developed an understanding about the boundaries between his person and the rest of the world. Tony had no such defenses.

Oh, she had no doubt that Peter would be quite a handful when he grew up, given his genetics and various bad influences, of which Natasha well knew she was not the least. However, for now he had yet to cause any explosions, SHIELD-level crises, or international incidents, and as such, he had not yet lost his right to displays of affection from her.

Why, yes, she held some twisted sort of affection for Tony. It was the reason she was spending her night tending his offspring so he could get rid of the worst of his exhaustion. Her professional concern for him only extended as far as to his capability of functioning within acceptable parameters during missions and not causing the entire Tower to explode with them inside, and that level had already been reached, thanks to a couple of nights he had been able to sleep through uninterrupted.

Peter was not Tony, though, and with any luck, would not be Tony, except perhaps in the ways that she could be pressed to call positive in the older Stark. For now, she was quite content to wait and see what kind of a man he grew up to be before assigning him any further judgments.

The baby moved, just a bit, and made a small sound, dark brows in a deep frown. She set her hands on the edge of the crib, looking down at him. He didn't seem about to wake, but appeared restless nevertheless.

"There, there, little one," she murmured. "Let's not wake up until there is a reason to do so, hmm?"

In response, Peter stuck one tiny finger into his mouth. Well, close enough.

She started humming, then, at first without thinking of the melody, slowly turning into a lullaby she vaguely remembered from long ago, in another life. Peter relaxed minutely, the frown leaving his little face in favor of more restful sleep.

Peter wasn't Tony, and hopefully he would grow up to be quite different, but even so, he was Tony's child and thus part of her team. Anyone foolish enough to try to bring harm to him would have to go through her, no matter how minor the offense.

And that, as many had discovered to their misfortune, was not an easy task.

*

If there was one thing Phil had learned by now, it was that silence was rarely a good sign.

There were good silences, of course, like a peaceful evening with a good book and a cup of tea, or watching Clint at the range, but those were preciously few and far between in his life. Much more often silence was the tension of waiting for Clint to report back after dropping off the communication lines, or the eerie lack of life in a trap about to be sprung. In the Tower, with all its life, it certainly could not signal anything good.

Which was why his first instinct as he and Steve returned from a short trip to the bookstore to an absolutely silent Tower was to start worrying.

"Jarvis?" Phil asked, frowning as they stepped out of the elevator into a quiet stillness. "Where is everyone?"

"Sir is in a meeting, I believe," Jarvis replied. "Agent Romanof and Doctor Banner went out to get supplies for a dessert Doctor Banner is hoping to make today; apparently they wanted to choose the fruit in person. Agent Barton and young Master Peter are in the living room."

"Living room?" Steve frowned, glancing at Phil. There was no sound of TV or a video game, not even music in the background. Clint generally found simply looking after the baby to be rather boring, so he was always doing something else at the same time. "What are they doing?"

"At the moment? I believe they are both down for a nap."

Phil raised his eyebrows. Clint was not exactly the type to lie down in the middle of a day, certainly not if he hadn't been doing something particularly tiring. "And how did that happen?"

"From what I understand, young Master Peter was being somewhat uncooperative when he was supposed to have a nap, and in the process of getting him to settle down Agent Barton tired himself."

"Really, now." Phil and Steve traded gazes again before heading straight for the living room, not even taking the time to take away their purchases.

Jarvis had been telling the truth. Clint and Peter were both in the living room, Clint lying in the middle of the floor on his back, Peter lying on his chest like a little puppy. Clint's hand rested on his back, securely holding the baby to him.

"Well," Steve murmured, his steps soft on the floor. "That is quite the adorable sight."

"I have to agree." Phil walked closer as well, placing his new books on the couch before kneeling down to carefully extract Peter from Clint's grasp. The baby thankfully stayed asleep throughout, settling on his arm as he then shook Clint's shoulder. "Clint? Clint, love, you'll ruin your back."

Clint stirred a bit, his eyes opening. "Mmm… what?"

"It seems you fell asleep on the floor," Steve chuckled. "I've got to agree, that can't be good for your back."

"Damn. I didn't mean to fall asleep," Clint murmured, sitting up. "It's just, it took me so long to get him to fall asleep, when he finally did, I didn't dare move."

"He has already mastered the art of bringing his opponents to their backs," Phil chuckled, gently brushing at the hint of dark hair on top of Peter's head. "Tony's going to be proud."

"Yeah, he's terrible like that." Clint stretched himself, trying to work the stiffness out of his back. "So, how was your trip to town?" The question was casual, but Phil could hear the slight worry hidden within.

"It was great. And yes, I'm all right." He patted Clint's arm with his free hand. "Steve took good care of me." And that was still a strange thought, that he could actually go out on errands with Captain America and call him Steve.

"Good. I'd have had to beat him up otherwise, and I'm really not sure that I would survive that."

"I'm pretty sure even I couldn't take an arrow to the back." Steve grinned, knowing a joke when he heard one. It was a good sign of how far the team had come from the start.

"Yes, well, I wouldn't kill you unless you let him die. And besides, losing two people at the same time would leave the babysitting roster much smaller. Not that I mind watching the Stark-spawn, but I rather enjoy my free time."

"It's good to know that your priorities are in order." Phil chuckled. "Come on. Let's get the baby back to his father so we can have some time to ourselves before dinner."

"Oh?" Clint lifted his eyebrows. "And do you have any plans for how we're going to spend that time?"

"Well, I think you could use a back rub after that nap." Phil gave him a smirk. "And after that, we can always improvise."

"Sounds great. Now let's get going before Steve blushes too much."

"If you could grab my books there, I'll handle Peter." Steve was indeed blushing. Apparently the captain had something of an imagination. "Let's go, love."

"Coming." Clint did indeed get his books from the couch before following him out of the living room. As they walked out of the door, Clint's hand came to rest at Phil's back right above his belt.

Well. He supposed they could just try and make it for the dessert instead.

*

Steve hadn't seen Tony since breakfast.

On one hand, he supposed this was a positive observation, in as much as that he had seen Tony at breakfast table, appearing very much awake. He'd been looking better since the others had agreed to start helping with Peter at nights, though it had taken a few days for him to catch up on all the lost sleep. This morning, though, he had been more or less back to the usual Tony Steve felt he knew so well by now, Peter held on one arm while he got through his morning coffee, going through various blueprints on the table surface. Once he'd finished eating, he had walked out of the kitchen, after which Steve hadn't seen hide nor hair of him.

It was past noon now, which meant Steve was starting to feel somewhat concerned against his better judgment. There was no reason for him to worry, of course; if anything had happened, JARVIS would have alerted them. However, having not even glimpsed Tony since the early morning, Steve decided to get a plate of sandwiches as a peace offering and go looking for him.

JARVIS was quite happy to inform him that Sir could be found in his workshop. Thanking it, Steve headed down to the workshop, sandwiches in tow. He didn't even need to guess to know that Tony hadn't eaten much during his self-imposed reclusion. He never remembered to eat properly when he was working on something.

Tapping his access code into the lock, he expected to be greeted with loud music the moment the door slid open. Instead, he walked into relative silence, where the only thing his ears picked up in the large space was the clinging of metal against metal.

"Tony?" he called out, walking to the direction of the sound. He could vaguely see Tony moving behind the semi-transparent wall of holographic schematics blocking the view. "Tony, are you here?"

There was no answer, just the eerie almost-silence in the place of Tony's usual working music. That almost worried Steve. At least usually, it was understandable that Tony didn't hear him approach; right now, his calls should have been quite clear in the room.

Walking around the last worktable, he came to a halt across from Tony, who was working on what appeared to be part of his suit. He still gave no indication of noticing Steve's presence, not until he glanced up at the blueprints stretched into the air in front of him and saw him standing behind them.

"Ah, my good Captain!" Tony set his tools down and took something out of his ear; an earphone, Steve realized, his sensitive ears catching the faint beat even from this distance. That explained why he hadn't heard Steve, though it still didn't tell him why Tony had forgone his usual habit of blasting music all through the room. "What brings you here?"

"I figured you might be getting hungry. It's already past noon," Steve replied, lifting the plate of sandwiches in response. "What are you working on?"

"Ohh, sandwiches. I'm starving." Well, that was a good sign; Tony couldn't be sulking or too stressed if he was willing to eat. "Oh, just tinkering with the design of the gauntlets. They're still a bit too clumsy for my tastes, not that I often have to do detailed work while in armor."

"That's good, I suppose." Steve watched as he wiped his hands in a rag, then snatched one of the sandwiches as Steve set the plate on the table. "Who's taking care of Peter?"

"Hmm? Well, me, of course." Tony waved his hand to the side. "Kid's happily asleep."

Walking around the table, Steve peeked to find a bassinet set next to the table, a sleeping baby lying in it quite happily. His mobile was securely attached to the small bed, the Avengers circling over the slumbering little boy. "You have him in here?"

"Well, why not? He doesn't need constant entertainment yet, so he's mostly fine just sleeping and lying around. When he's awake, Dummy just loves to wave toys at him." Tony grinned. "Better get him used to the workshop early on, since I plan on getting him to spend a lot of time here when he's older."

"You didn't even hear me calling for you, though." Steve frowned. "How are you going to hear him cry?"

"Uh, hello? Even if I'm using earphones instead of speakers, the music's still coming from JARVIS. Believe me, the meddling bastard's not going to let me ignore the kid."

"I have already interrupted his work three times in the course of this morning to get him to attend to young Master Peter, Captain," JARVIS' pleasant voice informed him. "I must say, he has always been very quick to attend to the young Master's needs."

"Yay, validation!" Tony threw his arms in the air. "See, I'm not altogether hopeless, Cap. Rather, I've been taking regular breaks for once whenever the spawn needs to be fed or washed or whatever." Steve almost scolded him for using such an ugly word about his child, but the fond tone was too clear for him to do that.

"Not feeding yourself, though." He didn't bother to frame his statement as a question.

"Yeah, that might have slipped my mind." As evident in the way he was devouring the sandwiches. "So, thanks for being concerned about my well-being, Cap." Through some miracle, there wasn't even too much sarcasm in his tone at that statement.

"Someone has to be." Steve brushed the top of Peter's head with gentle fingers. The child pursed his little lips but continued sleeping. "I never thought you'd want him here, though. You usually hate distractions."

Tony was quiet for a moment, whether to finish his current sandwich or to find words, Steve wasn't sure. "I was always the distraction," he finally said. "Even when I was old enough to build stuff myself, my father never wanted me around when he worked."

Steve swallowed, and tried hard not to think of Howard, young Howard so full of life and ideas, so different from the man Tony sometimes mentioned. "I thought you started tinkering pretty early."

"Oh, sure. But never in my father's workshop. That was a forbidden area; I would have just broken something or distracted him from something important." Tony shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but Steve spied tension at his shoulders. "I was never that important."

"And you don't want to give Peter a childhood like that."

"Well, I do aim to avoid the mistakes he made. If and when I screw this up, I want to make my very own mistakes." Tony glanced in the direction of the baby. "I know myself better than to promise I'm always going to be present and accessible the second he needs me, or that I'm always going to be perfectly loving and understanding and attentive. But the workshop is definitely something I can and want to share with the kid."

"I'm sure you'll be better for him than you realize." Steve smiled, taking a sandwich for himself before Tony finished them all. It was good to see him eating properly. "You seem much better than you've been lately."

"Oh yeah. Turns out actually getting proper sleep does wonders." Tony stretched a bit. "I feel awake for the first time in ages. Seems like being tired really cuts down on the creative juices."

"That's good to hear." Steve gave a small smile. "You haven't really been yourself lately."

"Oh, that was precisely me with too little sleep and caffeine," Tony snorted. "I just usually don't do sleepy mode twenty-four seven. But now I'm all nice and functioning and my mind's buzzing with ideas."

"And little Peter is keeping you company." Steve grinned, then thought of something. "Do you mind if I sit around here for a little while?"

Tony blinked. "Uh. I'm really not good company when I'm working."

"Ah, I don't want to bother you." Steve flushed slightly at having been so unclear. "I was just thinking of getting my sketchbook and doing some drawing, and there are so many interesting things around here that I could draw." Like Tony himself, his brows furrowed in concentration, eyes focused on whatever he was working on.

"Hey, long as you don't keep chatting or start poking around at something breakable or explosive, no skin off my nose." Tony shrugged. "Though if you're going to hang around voluntarily, I expect you to attend to the little guy every now and then, too."

"Of course." He smiled. "I'll just go and get my drawing things. And maybe some fresh coffee?"

"Oh, Steve, sometimes I could just kiss you."

Fortunately, just then Peter made a small sound, and Tony turned away before he caught the tiny flush rising to Steve's cheeks at that.

*

"I hope you're prepared for this, Stark."

"Oh, believe me, I am." Tony grinned. "My new Avengers PR department is already champing at the bit to get started on all the licensed merchandise."

"You do realize that's not the most important part, don't you?"

"Of course, but it's going to help a lot in funding the whole operation." Tony shrugged, adjusting Peter on his arm as he set the prepared bottle on his lips. "So, is everything fine at the legal end?"

"The last signatures were done today." Fury's image on the screen frowned. "You're now officially responsible for the Avengers and can choose your missions, though we will still offer up suggestions."

"As agreed, yes." Tony nodded. "So I can now go public as the head of the Avengers?"

"As you wish."

"Great. I've got a talk show interview scheduled for tomorrow, and we're doing a press conference next week with everyone." He paused. "That reminds me. Is there going to be a problem if I bring Widow and Hawkass out in the public?" Because if their faces did show up in national media, that was it for any undercover missions.

"If they want to do it. They're your problem now."

"And Coulson?"

"He's attached to us as a contact, but I'm not going to be using him on missions anymore, if that's what you mean. You might want to consider whether you're going to need a potential undercover man, though."

"Nah, I think all that cloak and dagger business is your thing. Wouldn't want to shoulder in on your turf. We're just there for all the flash and fame. You know, when agents aren't enough."

"We'll see how that works out." Fury shook his head. "Do what you want. We've more than established what you can and can't do on paper, I think."

"I'm having Jarvis record this conversation for further posterity, just so you know, so don't even think about going back on your word."

Fury snorted. "Please, I've got better things to do than giving you trouble. You stick to what we've agreed on, I'll do the same."

"We'll see about that." He grinned. "Make sure the catch my interview tomorrow."

"Someone's going to watch it, that's for sure." Meaning he'd probably make some poor intern watch and make notes. Did they even have interns at SHIELD?

"I'd damn well hope so, if I want any good PR from that." He glanced down at Peter. "Now can I get back to feeding my kid?"

Fury's only response was to cut off the transmission. Just as well, really. He supposed everything that had to be said, had been.

Now he just needed to get through the interview in a way that didn't have anyone in the press conference prepared for a Hulk outburst or an assassin attack.

*

"Did I miss anything?"

"You just made it; the show's about to start." Clint turned to look at him from where he was draped over Phil's lap, looking quite comfortable. "Try and find a seat."

"Right." Despite the size of Tony's favorite couch, this proved to be a problem with the rest of the Avengers already there. He ended up sitting between Natasha and Clint, somewhat grateful that Thor wasn't there at the moment. "What show is this, anyway?"

"Some new thing. All trendy and snarky, with a regular segment on heroes," Natasha told him, tucking her feet under her. "Our main theory is that Tony agreed to this interview because he's got a crush on the host."

"Figures," Steve sighed as the TV focused on said host, a rather lovely young woman with an intelligent look in her eyes. Oh, yes, definitely Tony's type.

There was some talk in the beginning, about how heroes were what America needed in these dark modern times and how they were going to interview an excellent example of a modern hero. It all sounded pretty nice, though Steve missed most of the details while trying to wrestle Clint for the possession of a bowl of chips, a fight that was quickly ended as Phil hushed them and glanced at the bassinet set next to his end of the couch. This was all well and good, as it was just then that Tony walked on the screen.

It was always fascinating to watch Tony work his charm for the media. There was this apparently genuine smile on his face that Steve knew to be the result of relentless practice and about as natural as the host's green hair. His movements were all so very easy, drawing all the eyes to him as though it were his natural right, his voice commanding attention without his ever having to raise it. Even on the other side of the screen Steve noticed the way the host's eyes were as glued on him as those of the audience. Such lack of professionalism.

Well, Phil had agreed to look after Peter for the night, too.

"So, Tony. There's been quite a lot of buzz about your new project," the host said as they settled on her very modern and very uncomfortable-looking couch. "What can you tell me about the Avengers?"

"Quite a lot, I'm pleased to say," Tony said, throwing her his trademark charming grin. Steve was shocked to find a wave of jealousy rising within him, one that was fortunately easily pushed back. "First of all, the Avengers were first born from the bunch of people who fought back that alien invasion a while ago. You know, hole in the sky, ugly things swarming Manhattan, I was being awesome and saving the world? Yeah, that time. There were five other people besides me, plus the man who pulled us all together. So after things calmed down a bit, I thought, well, why not make it a permanent thing?"

"Nice job glossing over the whole SHIELD affair," Bruce commented, stealing some popcorn from the bowl Natasha was holding. She didn't stab her, which Steve considered to be a good thing. "Has all this been cleared with Fury?"

"I believe he has been in touch with the Director, yes," Phil replied. "They agreed that he can reveal what he wants about the individual people forming the Avengers, because we are going to be a public entity, as long as no mention is made of SHIELD. Not just in the context of this interview, but later on as well."

"It's pretty important all around," Clint added, his tone serious. "Since Natasha's and my faces are going to be out in the public once we all do the shared press conference next week, there's no way SHIELD can even try to bring us back later."

"So, altogether six people besides yourself," the host concluded. Such commendable mastery of mathematics, Steve found himself thinking, then forced himself to regret it. It wasn't her fault that she was young and pretty and very much to Tony's tastes. "We all know about Iron Man, but what can you tell us about your comrades? Besides some footage during the attack, there isn't a lot we know about them."

"Oh, I could tell you more than you'd probably believe, but let's stick to the basics." Another charming grin, this time with a hint of naughtiness. "First of all, there's obviously Captain America. Some of us already know him from his previous activities way back in the second World War, and yes, this is the same guy. I've got to say he's done a marvelous job of adjusting to modern society." Tony flashed a smile at the camera. "We all wait with bated breath for the day he masters the microwave oven."

"I can operate a microwave oven!" Steve protested. "It's not my fault I didn't know you're not supposed to put tin foil in it, and that was just once!"

"There, there." Natasha patted his arm in a gesture utterly devoid of sympathy, while Clint was obviously snickering.

"The real Captain America," the host repeated, as though tasting the words in her mouth. "That's quite a thing to expect us to believe."

"Oh, that's nothing." Of course Tony could always top even himself. "You know the sudden thunderstorm that struck down a lot of the ugly things? Yeah, it's kind of useful to have Thor on your side."

"Thor? As in, the Viking god Thor?" She seemed bemused.

"As in the Asgardian prince Thor, which is probably the closest one is going to get, yeah." Tony made a face. "I once took his hammer to the chest. Not an experience I care to repeat. Much nicer to have him in my team."

"A legendary hero from the era of your father and a thunder god. Those are quite the mighty people to have on your team. Who else are you even going to need?"

"Well, there's always the Hulk," Tony said, his tone almost cheerful. "You know, big green monster? Took on a couple of tanks at some point in the past, now uses his lovely bulk mostly to force alien airships to break? I've got to say, that guy is one of my best friends, and not just because he saved my lovely ass from being flattened in a most unamusing way. See, when he's not all hulked out with his anger issues, Bruce's really the sweetest guy you can find, and pretty much the only one I can have an intelligent conversation with outside most major universities."

Steve glanced to the side, curious to see how Bruce took having his little problem aired out to all the world. All he found was a small, amused smile. "I notice he hasn't mentioned poking me with a stick."

"So he turns into the Hulk when he is angry? Doesn't that cause possible tension within the team when you aren't working?" the host inquired. "I wouldn't want to risk annoying someone like that."

"Not at all," Tony replied easily. "He's a really chill guy. I poke him with a stick sometimes and haven't gotten flattened yet."

"Spoke too soon, I see."

"And what about the red-haired woman the witnesses mention seeing with the other heroes?" The host tilted her head in the worst faked show of innocence Steve had seen in a while. "A girlfriend, perhaps?"

"First of all, that's the Black Widow, and secondly, you're pretty damn lucky she's currently home and not here with us, because that's a damn stupid comment to make and she'd make sure you know it." Steve noticed Natasha shifting next to him, leaning against Bruce to be more comfortable, a small smirk on her face. "She's not only more than enough of a hero in her own right, she's probably one of the most dangerous members of the team. Certainly more dangerous than I could ever hope to be without my suit. I've seen her put Cap to the ground without breaking a sweat."

"Duly noted." The host did look a bit taken aback. Had she been anyone else, Steve might have felt sorry for her, but he couldn't muster up such feelings right now. Oh, yes, he was being petty. "So, you mentioned five others, and one more addition; however, the witnesses reported only these four besides Iron Man. Are the other two invisible, perhaps?"

"Oh, no, just very good at not being seen." Tony grinned. "There's Hawkeye for one; the guy could probably shoot a fly at a hundred paces with his eyes closed, except he never closes his eyes because he sees everything. I swear, if you gave the guy binoculars he'd turn it down because it'd shorten his range. He kept an eye on everything during the battle and probably took down more of the flying bugs than anyone else. Okay, well, besides myself, but I kind of had a nuke to help."

Clint snorted, throwing a chip at the screen, which Steve was somewhat impressed by given the not very aerodynamic shape. "Those so totally don't count."

"And the last one… well, he's our very own secret agent." This time, the grin Tony gave was genuine. "He's currently guarding my greatest treasure. Hi there, Mr. Agent! Try to resist the temptation to rob me, okay?" Tony waved at the screen.

"As though I'd let him," Clint snorted. "I prefer the majority of my nights without any sudden wake-up calls, thanks."

"Oh, hush." There was the faintest hint of a smile on Phil's face.

"Actually, this reminds me," there was suddenly a look on the host's face that made Steve somewhat uncomfortable, "there is something a bit more personal I'd like to ask you. Would that be all right?"

"Ask away." Tony spread his arms. "I'm here for you to probe, sweetheart~!" Steve made a face. Could Tony get any more blatant?

"Very well." Her eyes flashed. "How would you like to comment this photo?"

Suddenly, a picture appeared on the big screen set behind the two of them. It was unmistakably Tony, his red shades not exactly a remarkable disguise. He was also very clearly looking at some baby clothes in a store.

Tony, being Tony, showed no surprise at all. "Well, far as I can see, there are two possible explanations for this picture," he said, still with the same nonchalant tone. "The first one is that I have a doppelganger, because damn, that's a good likeness of me. I've got to say, that possibility quite worries me. You're supposed to die if you meet your doppelganger, right? And I'm not quite ready to buy a farm yet."

"And the other possible explanation?" The host raised her eyebrows.

"Well, the picture could also be from the last time I was out buying clothes for my son." Aside from the fact that he was smiling, one might have thought Tony was discussing the weather, nothing more. "I believe that was on Thursday. Is this picture from last Thursday? Because if so, I won't have to look out for doppelgangers. That's a damn good thing, really, I was getting pretty worried for a moment there."

"Your son?" Steve had to admit, the host was a professional if nothing else; her surprise only showed up for a split second before the mask took over again. "You have a son?"

"Oh yeah. Cutest little thing on Earth, too, it's clear as day where he gets his looks from, he's going to be a total heart breaker some day. Currently in the very competent care of Mr. Secret Agent extraordinaire, before you ask. Hey, you want a picture? I'll give you a picture." Tony took out his phone, fingers flying over the screen for a second, before the picture of him out shopping was suddenly replaced by a shot of Peter asleep in his crib, a stuffed Iron Man toy keeping guard in the corner of the bed. "See? Totally the cutest thing you've ever seen."

"How come this is the first time anyone has heard about your son?"

"Isn't it obvious? I mean, look at the kid. He's far too young to have done anything remarkable. Obviously I'm sure he'll be just as ingenious and heroic as his old man, but for now, isn't it a bit early to push him into making a name for himself? After all, he doesn't quite even recognize his name yet. I'm sure he'll do something noteworthy sooner or later, but somehow I doubt even a slow news day would warrant a headline about how big of a spit-up he managed to get on my shoulder without a warning. Are there records for that sort of thing, by the way? Because I'm pretty sure I've got a future champion right here. Still not quite enough to make him famous, though."

"All I mean is, the last word on you is that you were happily single."

"Oh yeah, that still applies. What, did you think I'm dating the kid? Because for the record, I'm not. There's this new thing going around, I think it's called being a single parent. I'd say it's awesome because it means I won't have to compete about being his first word, but with the team hanging around it'll probably be Widow if the kid values his life."

"You know, however annoying he is to deal with, it's kind of fun to see him doing it to someone else." Natasha smirked. "Especially when he's being reasonable."

"So he doesn't have a mother, then?"

Now, Tony gave the host an incredulous gaze. "What are they teaching in schools these days?" he exclaimed. "I mean, I know that abstinence only shit is spreading faster than an STD in a Catholic school, but honestly, I thought they still at least got the basics right. Yes, barring any extreme medical breakthroughs, every child has both a father and a mother. I happen to be the father of this particular child, the mother is no longer with us. Hence, good old me as the single parent. Do you need me to draw a diagram or something? Because a young lady your age seriously should know this stuff."

Steve couldn't help but grin as the host got quite flustered, though she again composed herself with remarkable ease. Pity. He could have watched her squirm a bit more. "You haven't been spotted with anyone in quite a while, though."

"A good point, a very good point. Which would mean either the tabloids haven't seen me with the people I've taken home or I've cleaned up on my habits. The problem with that first theory is that those vultures see just about everything because they're everywhere. Seriously, I check under the kid's bed every night, I don't know about you but I certainly can't imagine a worse monster than your average journalist. So, the logical conclusion would be that I've calmed down. Had to happen some time, I suppose. Must be getting old."

She took on a smile that was obviously meant to be teasing, trying to save the situation by pretending they were both joking. "So fathers no longer have to lock up their daughters when Tony Stark is in town?"

"Okay, I've got to say, I've always found that saying offensive on several levels." Tony frowned, and even Steve couldn't tell if he was being serious. "First off, it implies that I'd go after ladies young enough to live with their parents, which, yeah, no. I assure you I don't discriminate by age, one of the most lovely nights of my entire life was with a very lively lady in her seventies, but I stay damn well away from anyone who isn't a consenting adult. Secondly, that implies that the sex lives of women should be controlled by men, which is both unfair and a very sad view of the world. Lastly, I feel saying that is really underestimating my appeal. I mean, I hate to blow my own horn because seriously I'm just not that flexible, but I'm pretty sure I could charm a few of the fathers, too."

"Oh?" Another very quick recovery. Steve suspected she was rather regretting having Tony on her show, even with the peek at the Avengers and the scoop of Tony's son. "And what are the chances of that happening?"

"Depends on the father in question, really. I mean, I am bisexual, after all."

There was complete silence, both on the set and in the Avengers Tower. The only one who seemed unaffected was Tony, glancing around with the calmest of expressions.

"What? You didn't know? Come on, I must have said it some time before. I know I've given enough drunk interviews that I've probably revealed every single detail of my life at some point. …Really? Nothing? I never have?"

"Someone please tell me Tony didn't just come out as bi on live TV." Bruce's voice was rather weak.

"Well," Steve heard Natasha drawing a deep breath, "at least we know who the press conference will be focused on next week."

"And the good Director owes me fifty dollars." Phil's voice was perfectly calm.

Steve wasn't sure who started laughing first, the tone somewhat hysterical, but when it happened they all joined in, unable to stop until Peter woke up and burst into tears.


	10. Shockers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is surprised after Tony's interview, though Bruce has some gratitude as well. Phil and Clint have a decision to make, and Steve has trouble deciding what to say and what not to say during the press conference. Later, Hulk comes to the rescue, which leads Natasha to do something she hasn't until now. Finally, Tony does something that shocks even himself.

Tony stood at the doorway to the living room, looking baffled. "What do you mean, nobody knew?"

"I refuse to believe you're serious." Bruce gave his friend a flat stare. "I figured you were just downplaying it during the interview. Don't you dare give us that same thing."

"No, I really am serious." Tony looked around at his gathered teammates, eyes wide with confusion. "Not even any of you knew?"

"Ah, not all of us make it our business to speculate about other people's love lives." Steve seemed a bit awkward, rubbing the back of his neck. "But, no. You haven't given much indication that you aren't solely interested in the ladies."

"We're not mind readers, Tony," Bruce reminded him. "If you want people to know that kind of things, you have to tell them."

"I was pretty sure I already had," Tony protested. "I've got this vague memory of telling that to a reporter once when they asked me about my type. Well, okay, so basically I said legal and consenting, but that's the same thing, right?"

"Not when they're specifically asking you about women." Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. "I've read your SHIELD file. You've never said anything to that effect in any form of media. If you had, they would have known about it."

"I can confirm this." Phil looked up from where he had been checking up on Peter. "We were very careful to comb through any publications. The only suggestions that you were not entirely straight were from the kind of magazines that also posit that Santa Claus is not only real, he lives in a secret moon base together with Elvis and Captain America's evil twin."

"Well, that's obviously bullshit. Everyone knows Steve's the evil twin." Tony waved his hand dismissively. "Come on, you're SHIELD. You're supposed to find out this kind of things for yourself, not trust the media."

"Well, they sure seem eager to report all your latest trysts." Natasha raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, Natasha, please don't do this to me." Tony lowered his sunglasses just enough to look at her over them. Bruce was only slightly surprised to realize he was so used to Tony wearing them, he hadn't even thought to question the fact they were still on his face even as he had come in. "You think that's all? Really? Darling, the only people who end up in the tabloids at my arm are those who want to be seen there. None of my male conquests — who do exist, I assure you, they're just not quite as numerous as the female ones — have ever felt like being the first man to be seen getting it on with Tony Stark in public."

"So even you admit people never see any indication of it, then are surprised that nobody figured it out?" Most of the time Bruce found Tony's unique line of logic fascinating. At times like these, though, it just gave him a headache.

"Well, sexuality's not just about the people you take to bed. I mean, if that were true, Cap would be asexual far as I know — nothing wrong with that, mind, I'm just saying. And you're all supposed to be pretty observant people."

"So what is it we were supposed to observe?" Clint rolled his eyes. "Come on, more people knew about my being gay than knew you to be bi until just now, and we were at least trying to keep it low profile."

"Uh, the flirting? Maybe? And don't tell me you haven't noticed that. I'll flirt with anyone who catches my fancy. Pretty sure I've flirted with everyone on this team. Okay, except maybe Agent Agent, but I can do that if he feels left out, assuming Hawkass won't put an arrow through my head for doing so."

"I'm quite content without such attention, thanks." Phil's lips quirked into the slightest of smiles.

"That's the exact problem, though, Tony," Bruce sighed. "You flirt with everyone and anyone. Nobody takes it as an indication of anything. I've personally seen you flirt with a computer, a coat rack, and a particularly charming golden retriever, but I'd like to think you wouldn't take any of them to bed."

"Well, I don't know. That was a pretty damn sleek computer." Tony pushed through them, heading to where Phil had the baby. "Seriously, though, I honestly wasn't expecting such a fuss. I mean, if I had been trying to cause a scene, I would have done it in a much more dramatic manner, not as some throw-away mention."

"Well, regardless of your intent, it's out there now, for better or worse." Phil's eyes were sharp on Tony as the genius picked up his son, settling the slumbering baby on the crook of his arm. "What are you going to do about it?"

"What am I going to do? Handle it like any other little PR bomb I've ever dropped. Ride out the inevitable stocks drop, answer enough questions that people can confirm it's true and have Pepper shut down any further mess, then stay out of sight until the vultures get tired and decide there's something more interesting going on than who or what Tony Stark sticks his dick in."

"Tony, there's no need to be crude." Steve frowned, giving a meaningful glance at the child in Tony's arms.

"Oh, come on, Cap. I'll start worrying about my language when he starts actually speaking, okay? Besides, that's hardly even rude, and definitely not the worst thing he's heard. Pretty sure I once caught Barton singing a lullaby consisting solely of swear words."

"He's too young to even remember," Clint said with a defensive tone as this earned him disapproving gazes. "A kid that young wouldn't know if I'm speaking English or Swahili as long as the tones are right."

"So, see? Besides, it's my kid. If I want to talk to him about dicks, that's definitely within my rights." Tony grinned down at the sleeping child. "Isn't that right, Peter? You'll grow up to know exactly when it's appropriate to call someone a dick, oh yes you will."

Bruce and Steve exchanged gazes. "I'm suddenly very worried about the press conference," Steve murmured, and Bruce couldn't help but agree.

Looking at Tony, though, he caught a very serious expression on his friend's face in the middle of his rather inappropriate talk. Regardless of whether it was the first time anyone heard it or not, the mention of Tony's sexuality was sure to gather attention anyway, as was the news about his son. Attention that might have otherwise been focused on matters such as the Hulk or even Clint and Phil, considering they were apparently not hiding their relationship any longer. And while he may not have meant it to be such a huge revelation, the so-called slip had certainly been deliberate.

Peter woke up just then, starting to fuss, and Tony made a beeline for the kitchen to get him a bottle. As he passed by, Bruce took the opportunity to murmur, "Thank you."

If he'd been unsure about his little theory, the gaze Tony gave him, utterly unsurprised, confirmed it beyond any doubt.

All that remained was for them all to survive the press conference.

*

"So." Clint dropped down on the couch next to him, reaching an arm around his shoulders in a gesture that hadn't been smooth the first time a hopeful teenager had tried it on his girlfriend, and failed to be so now. He should have at least had the decency to pretend to be yawning, really, there was just no effort. He was just lucky Phil wasn't averse to his approaches. "What are we going to do?"

"About what?" Phil reached for his bookmark and set it between the pages, knowing full well he wouldn't get further any time soon. When Clint wanted attention, he made sure he got attention.

"Oh, you know. The press conference tomorrow." Clint drew him closer, nuzzling the side of his head like an affectionate puppy. "The one that's probably going to be more about Stark's sex life than the team, whatever the intentions."

"Well, you are going to attend, of course." Then, because Clint looked like he was about to ask something, Phil added, "As will I, though I do not expect to do so in any kind of an official capacity. Certainly not pretending to be one of the team."

"Which is bullshit, because you totally are, but if that's what you prefer, fine." Clint sighed. "Still not what I meant, though."

"So do clarify." Because while he knew Clint hadn't asked about their attendance, there were a couple of different things he might have been referring to. "If you are concerned about yourself and Natasha compromising your identities, it has been cleared with Fury already. You are now officially attached to the Avengers, and Tony has no intention of doing undercover operations, so that shouldn't be a problem. Nobody's forcing you to appear, of course, but it won't compromise any future missions because there will be no missions that would require you to be unrecognizable."

"Makes me wonder what Nat's going to do about it. But it's still not what I was going for." Clint's other hand, the one that wasn't currently caressing his shoulder, reached for Phil's hand resting on the cover of the book. His fingertips brushed against the ring there. "What about us?"

"What about it?"

"You know they're going to ask questions. Now that Stark came out as bi, it's going to be open season on the rest of us. So, what are we going to say? How much are we going to reveal?"

"Nobody's going to force you to come out, if that is what you mean." Phil would make sure of that. "I do not mind either way whether my orientation comes up, though I doubt anyone will be interested in me. I also do not care whether our relationship is publicized. If you want to tell people, I won't argue, but I also won't push the issue if you'd rather stay silent." He knew it wasn't any indicator of whether Clint loved him, nor anything equally ridiculous. It was simply that years of not drawing attention and hiding anything personal often left people with the tendency for secrecy.

He was done with that, though. His being alive had been kept secret, and that had caused far too much pain. He refused to be part of any more mysteries that might have harmed those he cared about.

"I — I think I want to tell." Clint drew a deep breath. "About us, that is. I mean, I'm not going to rush out and yell it to the world, that'd just be ridiculous, but if anyone asks, I'll tell."

"Are you sure?" Phil looked down to their hands, Clint's still resting over his. "You don't have to, you know. Nobody's going to fault you if you'd rather stay silent, least of all I."

"I know. It's just — I don't want to hide, not anymore." He looked up, and Clint gave him a wan smile. "I already lost you once, Phil, and I couldn't even tell people how badly I was hurting, because nobody knew how important you were. Nobody but Nat and Fury, and she's the one who kept me sane and he's the one who hid you. And I couldn't help thinking of all the times we pretended and hid and lied, and all the times I could have stood beside you but instead chose to stay silent."

"You always were beside me." He always had, no matter what.

"You know what I mean, Phil. I mourned you once before, I'm damn well not wasting a single moment more." There was again a soft caress over his ring, so gentle, just barely there. "And I'm not afraid. I used to be, once, but that's because my life's been pretty damn fucked up, but it can't get any worse than throwing ashes off the fucking carrier and thinking it was you. Nobody's going to steal another moment of the time I have with you."

"My, my, Clint. You sound unusually poetic." And yet his lips were turned into what had to be the sappiest of smiles in response. "Very well. If anyone asks, you will tell them. Though I do have to request that you do so by speaking, not some ridiculous gesture. I will not be bent back and smooched in front of full media coverage."

"Aww, Phil, you wound me so." Clint gave him a lopsided grin. "You know I wouldn't do that. I'm not supposed to handle you roughly until you've recovered, after all."

"Which is your only reason, then?"

"Eh, I don't see many others, really. Though Stark would probably take that as a challenge, and I really don't want to see what he'd do in a bid to outdo a kiss, so perhaps it's better after all not to go down that path."

"So very thoughtful of you, love." Phil turned to receive the small kiss he knew was coming, then smiled. "Now, was there anything else, or may I get back to my book now? I was rather hoping to finish it before dinner."

"I could say a lot of things I could help you finish before dinner, but I think I'll rather just stay here and cuddle, if that's all the same to you."

"As long as your cuddling doesn't interfere with my reading, I'm fine." Phil's lips twitched. "Of course, that also means I won't have to spend any time reading after dinner."

"Oh?" Clint's smile turned into a sly little smirk. "And how were you planning to spend your time instead?"

"Oh, perhaps I should just have an early night and go to bed. You know, simply to make sure I'm nice and relaxed tomorrow for the press conference." He answered the smirk with a single lifted eyebrow. "If you play your cards right, I might even let you join me."

Clint merely chuckled in response, but he did let Phil get back to his book. There was, on the other hand, a whole lot of cuddly Hawkeye clinging to his side.

He was such a fortunate man.

*

The media, Steve decided, were both just the same as back in his day and too different to be recognized. There was still the same eagerness for the best story, the best picture, the same rather flimsy regard for anything resembling truth if the lack of it made for better headlines, the same ability to take something small and insignificant and dress it up to be momentous. And yet it was different, so much more fierce and blood-thirsty, and sometimes he wondered how it could all be worse than before when in his day they'd been in the middle of war propaganda and this was the regular way of these people.

The one thing that was exactly the same, though, was his ability to put on a bright smile in front of the cameras and know exactly what he was supposed to say. Not that there was much to say, what with all the attention being on Tony.

The press conference was supposed to be an announcement about the establishment of the Avengers, and comments on that fact. Aside from Thor, the whole team was there. Steve was seated in the middle, because apparently he made a good leader figure even if Tony was pulling all the strings with glee. The mastermind himself was seated to his right and Bruce to his left, with Clint and Natasha at the ends of the table, Coulson standing to the side like an incredibly lethal mannequin. Facing them were the reporters, so many reporters and cameras and flashing lights, and Steve kept his hands folded on the desk and a smile on his face as everyone seemed more interested in the aspects of Tony's personal life than the brand new team of world-saving heroes.

He had to admire Tony's patience, really, which was not something he would have thought he would ever do. Here was Tony, the very picture of snide remarks and sneers, flashing his best smirk at the cameras and taking the questions one at a time, even the ones that Steve thought went far too deep into his personal life to be the business of anyone else. Yes, he'd had male partners before, they hadn't appeared in public because he had kept them out of public, and yes of course he was ashamed of his sexuality, that was why he had come out on national TV, did they not see these tears of shame and regret carving deep grooves into his face?

Okay, so maybe the snide remarks were still very much there.

"All right, folks, this is getting ridiculous," Tony finally said. "We're supposedly gathered here to discuss the team, not the contents of my pants, what I do with them, and what might have resulted from said activities, even if all of that is utterly glorious and awesome beyond belief. So, if the next question could actually be about the team, that'd be great, thanks."

"Mr. Stark!" someone called out. "Are you the only LGBT individual in the Avengers?"

"Okay, not exactly what I was hoping for, but I suppose that is technically about the team." Tony glanced around at his teammates, an eyebrow arched in amusement. "Any takers?"

For a moment, Steve hesitated, battling with himself. He didn't think he could honestly say such a thing about himself, couldn't lay claim to a title he had never worked to wear, wasn't even sure himself just what to make of the strange thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone. He also didn't want to lie, didn't want to say he was absolutely and definitely one hundred percent heterosexual, not when Tony had just grinned and beamed and made it very clear he had no time for such antiquated things as shame.

Before Steve could actually do or say anything, though, Clint leaned a bit closer to his mike, expression perfectly neutral. "Hold on, let me check with the management." He looked over to where Phil was standing by, dark suit impeccable as ever, giving no indication whatsoever that he had technically died once. "Hey, Phil?"

"Yes?" Phil turned to look at the table, expression never wavering.

"We're still married, right?"

There was a minute twitch of Phil's lips, one that even Steve had trouble catching. "Last time I checked, yes."

"Good." Clint turned back toward the mike. "So, yeah, looks like I'm still gay and taken. I know, I know, total loss for the womankind."

This was followed by another flurry of questions, one so unrelenting and vicious that Steve idly thought that if anyone directed a question at him, he might reply with his name, rank, and number without even thinking twice. Somehow Clint held steady, though, answering the questions with remarkable ease, about how Phil was their official liaison and how they had gotten married when it first became legal in New York and how nobody on the team had ever been anything but supportive. It all came with a sense of ease that felt almost practiced, with no apparent need for secrecy that seemed to clash with the usual yearning for privacy the archer showed with anyone but closest friends, but the smile creeping up on his face was as genuine as the affectionate looks he exchanged with Phil.

"Captain America?" And thank goodness he didn't actually react as though he were being interrogated. "What are your thoughts on this?"

"On what? The Avengers? I think we're already a great team, and I look forward to accomplishing great things together." Of course, he knew that wasn't what they meant, but then it was their fault for not elaborating. Steve was busy keeping up his most innocent expression even as he felt more than saw the smirk crawling up to Tony's face. If he made Tony amused, he was doing something either horribly wrong or absolutely right. For now, he was hoping for the latter.

"What about this sudden wave of confessions from your teammates, though? Were you aware of all this?"

"That's still somewhat vague." His best pleasant, unassuming smile. "Was I aware of Tony's son? Oh, yes. I'm the one who accompanied him to the hospital when Peter was born." Let them draw what conclusions they wanted from that. He'd seen what the gossip magazines came up with regardless of facts, he couldn't encourage them to do worse if he tried. And if someone tried to claim he had gotten Tony pregnant, well, he was sure Tony would be more amused than anything. "Was I aware of his sexuality? No, not in as many words. Though I'll admit, after he made it clear, quite a lot of his flirting about makes a lot more sense. I mean, I know men can have long hair nowadays, so it can be confusing sometimes, but for some time I wasn't sure he noticed that Thor has a beard, too."

His innocent look had to be working, because the reporter didn't seem entirely certain how to deal with that. However, he recovered quickly, like any shark would with blood in the water. "And the two team mates who are gay married?"

"Well, obviously I prefer them to be happily married than unhappily. They are my friends, after all." He allowed for a beat of silence before turning more serious. "In the current sense of the word, though, I see absolutely no difference to either of them being married to a woman. It's none of my business what either of them has in their pants or what they do with it, as Tony put it earlier. I'm happy to see that two good people have found happiness in each other, that's all."

"So you don't think it clashes with the traditional values you fought to preserve?" Another reporter this time. How did they have this many idiots to go around?

"The values I fought for," he said, slowly and with deliberate seriousness, "were life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Not just for me, not just for the people who happen to agree with me on the matter of religion or politics or taste in sexual partners, but everyone. Far as I can see, the ability to share your life with the one you love is rather significant for the happiness of a lot of people." He frowned, then. It was one of his best frowns, a perfect mixture of confusion and apprehension that could even fool Tony on a good day. "Wait. They didn't change those since I went under, did they? Because that would be very unfortunate. I have to say I'm quite fond of my happiness." He glanced over to his side, finding Tony with a bright grin. "Tony? Those are still the unalienable rights, aren't they?"

"Pretty sure nobody's mucked around with the Declaration of Independence yet, so I think you're safe, Cap."

"That's good. I was starting to worry I'd have to go on some ill-fated crusade to bring back the good old days. Just as I was starting to figure out cell phones, too."

"Does that mean you are a proponent of gay rights?" And they still had the gall to actually ask that?

"Okay, you know what? I'm tired of this." Steve stood up, now; he didn't intend for it to be intimidating, but if it made some of the idiots take half a step back, well, he wasn't going to apologize. "Why is this what you keep asking about? Because so far nobody has asked me how I feel about having a woman on my team, and shouldn't she get back in the kitchen and maybe make a couple of babies while she is at it, and why I don't disapprove of Tony being perfectly open and honest about his various relationships. Nobody has asked me how I feel about having a black president, or about serving under a black officer, or a female one for that matter. Nobody asks about those things, and back in my day, those would have been just as unthinkable as a man married to another. So why aren't any of you questioning me about those matters?"

"Geez, Cap, aren't you being fierce." Tony gave him a sharp grin, the kind that meant he was going in for the kill, but Steve knew it wasn't targeted at him. "Why, you want to give a statement about those issues?"

"No, because they're not issues. They shouldn't be issues." He looked over to the reporters. "When I woke up to the new world, when I first started to see what was going on, I was honestly relieved to see that we were moving past such things. I was glad to see we as a society, if not always as individuals, aren't small-minded and short-sighted enough anymore to treat someone as less valuable because of their sex or background or color. We've still got a long way to go, but we're working on it, and I'm glad to see that sexism and racism are now seen as features of margin groups, not America as a whole. I'm glad that the people of today look back to the history and wonder how everyone could have been so blind and petty." He shook his head. "I can only hope that one day we can look back at these questions and think the same."

"Nicely put." Bruce smiled, and Steve was relieved to have someone take the subject for a change. "Honestly, I think the only one who was upset to hear about Clint's marriage was Tony, and that was because it meant he'd missed his chance to throw a wedding."

"In short," Steve added as he very calmly took his seat again, and honestly Tony had to be contagious or he never would have even thought of letting such words past his lips, "the only situation where I would imagine someone else's orientation would be any concern of mine is if I was interested in sharing a bed with them. Since Clint and his husband are obviously off the market and frankly nobody could tolerate Tony's bragging afterward, I fail to see how the sexuality of my teammates should be of any consequence to me." He glanced around, his best poster boy smile on his face as he took in the surprised looks, and honestly people so often forgot he'd been the best face of quite a large propaganda machine for far longer than could have been reasonable. "Next question?"

There was a momentary silence, and then an explosion of questions, and however overwhelmed he felt for a moment he found he couldn't bring himself to regret a thing.

*

Natasha had been afraid before.

Of course she had, she was human after all. Everyone was afraid sometimes, the difference was whether one let the fear take over. She refused to do that, staying in control of her emotions rather than letting them control her. However, she also knew enough to acknowledge that she was afraid, sometimes, because denial never helped anyone. It was only smart, anyway. Fear was a way of keeping yourself alive by helping you avoid situations that were likely to get you killed. She was extremely proficient at analyzing the actual risks of each situation, and being aware of her fears was an important asset to that skill. Nothing that controlled her, nothing that made her unable to act, just hints and signs of where she should focus her resources.

Then there was the Hulk.

It was ridiculous, really. Sure, Hulk was strong, but no more deadly than a well-aimed bullet. Once you crossed the line where your life was in danger, it was all a matter of scale. Had it all been rational, she shouldn't have held any more fear for Hulk than she did for someone with a weapon and the skills to use it. Hell, she was well aware of just how many ways Clint knew to kill her in an instant, yet she was not afraid of him at all. She likewise wasn't afraid of the various so-called killers they had had the dubious pleasure of dealing with before, even though in theory they were perfectly capable of ending her life.

The Hulk was different, though. Not just because he was deadly, but because he was the very opposite of her. She worked through guile and wits, manipulation and information, and she was always, always in perfect control of herself and her actions. The giant green monster was nothing but raw strength and uncontrolled rage, with enough intellect to be dangerous but not enough for her to manipulate it. There was nothing she could get a hold of, nothing she could appeal to, nothing about all that destructive power that would bend to her will no matter what she did.

So, yes, she was afraid. She was terrified, sometimes, not that she would have ever admitted it to anyone. Because the Hulk was something she couldn't truly understand, couldn't control at all, and that left her entirely powerless in the face of that danger.

This wasn't that kind of terror, not the unimaginable fear that made her run and run and pray to gods she had never truly believed in. This was a more rational fear, the kind she could control, try to turn it to her advantage in the form of adrenalin bursts and motivation. Not that having more willpower did much to help when she was clinging to a crumbling wall, hoping against hope she could make it to solid ground.

It was stupid, of course, but then an unforgivable number of people were killed in stupid ways and for stupid reasons. She should have been perfectly safe up on her perch until it was her time to join the fight, if it even was necessary; the others were doing an excellent job of keeping the idiotic wannabe-villains in check. Nothing actually threatening, just a group of harebrained fratboys who managed to get superpowers from an unfortunate lab accident and thought they were now important. Natasha wasn't afraid of the likes of them, had never been. If she had been killed by someone like that, she would have deserved it.

At least, that had been what she was thinking until the moment they realized the vibration powers of the self-styled crimelord did terrible things to the structural integrity of the buildings around them.

There were hurried commands rushing through the comm link into her ear, evacuation orders and status reports and calls for assistance. She gritted her teeth and clung to the corner of the wall that had started to crumble under her hands, now. A moment earlier she had been quite safe and sound on top of it, now it was eroding too quickly for her to pull herself away from the seven-floor drop down to the sidewalk.

Well. If she fell, she might be lucky enough not to feel the building coming down on her a moment later.

Natasha bit out a curse, ignoring the worried call of Phil in her ear. He couldn't do anything, nobody could do anything, not now. Iron Man had damaged one of his repulsors, and while he could stay up in the air, two people would have been too much of a strain. Besides, he was busy getting the civilians to safety. She'd be just fine as soon as she got herself up on the roof, she just needed a solid grip, surely there was something around here that could still be counted on to stay firm under her hands --

She reached for what looked like a firm piece of concrete, only for it to fall apart under her fingers. Just then, her other hand lost its grip, the last thing that had kept her up with the surface of the wall ground away in the way of her boots but not deep enough for her to step up. She reached for something, anything, but all she accomplished were scratched fingertips as she started to fall.

This. This she was afraid of. Nothing to be done, nothing to save her, nowhere to grasp or cling or move, and in a moment she would hit the sidewalk and that would be all she ever did.

Her back hit something hard, the air forced out of her lungs in a woosh, leaving her somewhat dizzy. Except she wasn't dead, not even injured, and it couldn't have been the sidewalk anyway, not with the roof of the building still so close to her eyes. And she was moving, too. Why was she moving if she had landed on something?

"Little Red fall." The voice wasn't loud, not exactly, but everything around her vibrated with it, making her feel it more than she heard it in the noise of the ongoing battle. "Hulk get Little Red down."

It was the Hulk, wasn't it, looking down at her in what almost seemed like concern, one huge arm cradling her like a child. It was strange, seeing the mockery of Bruce's familiar features on the large green face, yet almost comforting in a way, now that she had the time to look at it. Here was the Hulk, yes, big and strong enough to snap her like a twig, but there was something in his expression that made her think of nervously adjusted glasses and an ill-fitting shirt and a clean lab table with nothing but room for her to curl up on.

"So it seems," she murmured in response. "Can you get me to the ground?" It wouldn't work, of course, there was no way it could, she couldn't reason with the Hulk because he was beyond all reason.

Though she wasn't entirely sure what she had expected, there was a grunt in response, and the feel of air rushing past, and then she was let down on the ground in an almost gentle manner. She stood up straight, willing her hands to stop trembling, seriously now that wasn't getting her anywhere.

"Ah. Thank you." She looked up to the green face, the one that wasn't Bruce but held some brief glimpses of him anyway. "For the help."

She received a nod in return, and somehow even that managed to look almost like a threat, the massive muscles flexing and pulling. "Bruce like Lady Spider," and, wow, that was not something she had expected to hear. "Lady Spider need be safe."

"Thanks, I guess." And somehow, she got the feeling Bruce would never admit to having been conscious of those words, regardless of the glimpses he might have retained from the fight. "Ah. You can go back to smashing?"

It was mainly a question, never an order, but Hulk nodded again nevertheless. "Lots to smash." And then he bounced away, impossibly nimble for someone with that mass and bulk.

Natasha looked after him, just for a moment, before shaking her head to clear it, already giving Cap her report that yes, she was fine, no widow-shaped holes in the sidewalk here. Then she headed back to where the battle was still going on, ready for action. She'd make the bastards pay for giving her such trouble.

Lady Spider, huh.

It wasn't until a little while later that she realized her fear had stopped the moment she had found herself held by the Hulk.

*

"So. What's the matter?"

Natasha did not look up from where she was cleaning her gun, not that Clint had actually expected her to. She could be very difficult like that sometimes. "Your face."

"Oh, please. My face is adorable. In fact, it's so cute I bet you don't even want to hit it."

"Do not tempt me, Barton. I have plenty of frustrations I would love to take out on your face."

He waggled his eyebrows, knowing she would be aware of it even if she didn't look his way. "Oh, no. I'm not sure Phil would approve of you taking that kind of frustration out on poor little me."

"The little part is reason enough not to partake in such activities with you." Ouch. That would have hurt if he hadn't had it in good confidence his equipment was more than adequate. "There's nothing going on that would interest you."

"Oh, right. Which is why you've been all mopey ever since the last battle."

"I am not mopey." Which, okay, was true enough, considering that she never moped, moping just wasn't lethal enough. Yet at the same time, it was an utterly inadequate answer.

"Sure you aren't. You just sit here all by yourself and keep cleaning your gun. Nothing to do with that wonderful little rescue romance during the last mission."

Natasha scoffed, finally giving him a glance. Okay, so it was more of a glare, but it was the thought that counted. "There was no romance."

"There was a rescue, though. I'm really quite impressed, that's twice now Hulk's caught someone from falling. Except he didn't yell at you afterwards, like he did with Tony." Clint tapped a fingertip to his mouth. "You know, Bruce asked for you once everything was said and done. Apparently he just remembered you'd been in trouble, and when he didn't see you anywhere afterwards, he got worried."

"I was busy." Of course she had been. Busy hiding, probably.

"You do realize he's never going to make the first move, right?"

This time it was definitely a glare. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Yeah, right." Clint folded his hands behind his neck. "I was speaking with Tony, you know. Apparently we both have noticed the same thing. Namely, that the two of you have a thing for each other, but neither of you will do anything about it. Hell, apparently Tony started poking at Bruce to make a move around the time we located Phil, so if he still hasn't done anything, it's up to you, I'm afraid."

"Did it ever cross either of your minds that perhaps neither of us is doing anything because there is nothing to do?"

"Frankly, no. Rather, we both thought you've got a thing, but he can't bear the idea of putting you at risk, and you can't admit you have any warm emotions that don't have to do with arson, and therefore even when one of you manages to gather their nerve to do something like ask the other for dinner you still both assume it's just a friendly gesture because that's less painful than facing the possibility of something else."

"There is no other possibility."

"Yes, there is, you just can't admit it." Clint shook his head. "Is it the Hulk? Because I happen to know he freaks you out. And, hey, I'm not blaming you. And if the big guy does come out when his heartrate goes up, well, that doesn't bode well for bedtime, but —"

"Are you sure you should be thinking about Bruce in bed?"

"Not really, no. Mainly because I trust that you could easily castrate me with a paperclip if you were so inclined. I just also happen to think you would be quite happy to do that thinking."

Natasha was quiet for a moment, eyes focusing on her gun again. When she spoke, there wasn't a hint of emotion in her voice. "If you run now, I might let you live out of respect for Phil."

She wouldn't have killed him, of course, not really, but he figured he had annoyed her enough either way. Which meant he was going to make himself scarce lest she be forced to demonstrate just how idiotic it was to cross her. Even if she would stick to non-lethal means, it was still not something he wished to deal with. Besides, he did feel like getting a sandwich.

She would think about it, he knew that much. And eventually, she would take action, though of course it would have nothing to do with their little chat because if there was one thing Natasha hated it was admitting that anyone but her had good ideas. Well, at least admitting that Clint had good ideas. Not that it mattered, not as long as she got moving.

About fucking time.

*

She may not have been living in the Tower anymore, but Pepper saw no reason to let that stop her from walking right in when she pleased. It was still her Tower, at least in part, and she would have been quite surprised if anyone had tried to stop her.

As it was, nobody popped up to protest as she headed for the living room, sat down on the couch and took off her shoes. However much she loved them, sometimes she did need a break.

"Tough day?" She looked to the other end of the couch, where Bruce was fiddling with a page of his book. She offered him a tired smile.

"Exhausting. Not that it's ever a walk in the park, but today was definitely one of the worse days." She stretched herself and then sighed. "I'm technically still supposed to be at the office, but when my last meeting of the day cancelled, I made an executive decision to call it a day. I'm so tired, I wouldn't have been able to get anything productive done either way."

"My sympathies." He smiled faintly. "And any particular reason you headed over here? Not that I'm complaining, of course, but I would have imagined you would have preferred an actual break instead of bringing yourself into the barely controlled chaos that is this place."

"Actually, I was hoping to track down Phil. He still owes me a movie night, and I was hoping to convince him to do that today. From what I recall he has physical therapy right now, so he might enjoy a relaxing evening after that."

"That does sound like a solid plan. I do know they don't have anything planned, judging by the fact Clint was busy designing custom targets."

"Do I want to know how he was doing that?"

"He blew up pictures of everyone from the Avengers coloring book that's going to come out and is now busy wasting a few colored pencils on them."

"I feel like I should be freaked out by the idea that he's going to use pictures of you all for target practice."

"I would be more worried if I didn't know he also bought a big bag of cherries to have plenty of pits to spit at our pictures." Bruce chuckled. "Apparently any challenge of aim is entertaining for him."

"I suppose that's unthreatening enough." Pepper chuckled. "So, what have you been up to?"

"Oh, nothing that exciting." Bruce indicated his book. "Catching up on my reading, these past couple of days."

Before Pepper could reply, Natasha strode in, not slowing down until she came to a halt in front of the couch. She gave Pepper a small nod in greeting, then turned to Bruce. "Doctor Banner?"

"Ah, yes?" Bruce blinked, adjusting his glasses. "Is something the matter?"

"We're going out." Natasha set her hands on her hips. "Not as friends, not just because someone forgot their turn cooking, on a date. No, you are not busy, I checked with Tony and you have nothing going on in the lab that can't wait. JARVIS has made a reservation, you have the suit you wore to the press conference, we are taking one of Tony's cars and you will be ready at seven."

"Ah. Right." Bruce blinked. "I… all right. Seven, was it?"

"Precisely. I trust JARVIS will remind you. And now, do excuse me. I have to chase Clint down before Steve realizes a certain idiotic archer nicked his colored pencils." And, with another nod at Pepper, she hurried out again.

For a moment Bruce was quiet, blinking and staring at where Natasha had been. Then, he turned toward Pepper. "Did that just happen?"

"Natasha informing you that you have a date? Yes, I do believe so." Pepper chuckled and patted his shoulder. "Nothing exciting going on, hmm?"

"Well, in my defense I did not know beforehand that would happen." Bruce blinked again, then started patting his pockets in the universal sign of looking for a cell phone. "Uh. What time is it?"

"Seven to five, Doctor Banner." Ah, ever the helpful AI, JARVIS was. "You have plenty of time to be ready."

"Right. Thanks." Bruce shot up from his seat. "Ah. You'll excuse me, I just —"

"Oh, do go on." Pepper chuckled. "I'll be just fine here even if you leave me by myself."

"Right. I hate to abandon you, but, ah…"

"But you would be a very stupid man to ruin a chance like this. Go on, don't let me keep you." She smirked. "I think I would hurry, too, if a woman like that told me we were going on a date."

"Maybe you'll have a chance once I ruin mine."

"Oh, you're not going to ruin anything." She smiled. "I've seen the footage of Hulk at the last mission. I do think you will be forgiven quite a lot."

"I'd hate to think she'd go on the date with me simply because the other guy saved her from falling."

"If that were the case, the Avengers would be nothing but a big orgy by now." Pepper paused. "Do not let Tony hear I said that, or he'll get strange ideas."

"I'll keep my mouth shut." Bruce smiled and headed out of the room. Pepper leaned back on the couch and stretched her toes, lips quirking as she heard a rather spirited cry unmistakably coming from Clint somewhere in the depths of the Tower. Clearly Natasha had found her target.

Life as usual in the Tower, it seemed. It certainly had become quite a lot livelier since the time they were the only inhabitants.

Clearly, things were looking up.

*

There was, Tony decided, nothing quite as exhilarating as the feeling of soaring in the air without anything or anyone getting in his way. It was good enough during battles, of course, he wouldn't have done something this insane for so long otherwise, but it just didn't compare to the sheer joy of flying without anything else on his mind. It was just him and the air, the suit and JARVIS's voice in his ears, as his own genius and skills took him up from the ground and through the skies with nothing able to stop him. It was a triumph of mind over matter, of human effort over forces of nature, and as much as he loved the laws of physics and would have never thought to fuck with them the way Loki or even Thor did, it did sometimes feel incredibly good to leave them behind just for a little while.

He did a loop around the Tower and went up to the air again, trailing a light that disappeared in the glow of the city that refused to sleep, nothing interesting here folks just your one and only Iron Man on the case. Except there was no case, nothing to worry about, no shots to dodge or enemies to aim for and all he had was the rushing of the wind.

Oh, yes, he was a happy man indeed.

Nothing good lasted forever, though, and after one last loop over Manhattan he came down to a leisurely hover just above the landing strip. He finally came down with a resigned clang, letting the arms strip off his armor as he walked down the path towards the doors inside.

Steve was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, a small smile on his lips. "Peter's asleep in the living room," he said. "And you look like you had fun."

"Oh, you bet." Tony stretched, feeling the cool night air seeping through his flight suit. "Been far too long since I've just gone on a flight without a reason."

"You used to do this more, then?"

"Oh, all the time. There's always some excuse if I look hard enough. An adjusted repulsor, or new calibrations for the flight fins, or just a slightly improved silhouette for the helmet. Used to go for flights all the time, back when I wasn't quite so busy." Which didn't mean he hadn't been busy, he always was, but there was a difference between superhero-and-genius busy and superhero-single-dad-team-player-and-consultant busy. "So, yeah. Thanks for watching junior."

"Any time." Steve smiled, and even in the relative darkness it seemed to brighten up the space. Which was ridiculous, of course, smiles did not actually brighten up anything, but it did make Tony feel just slightly giddy in a way that would have been more fitting for someone perhaps a third of his age.

"I mean it, you know. Yeah, yeah, he's a cute brat, but sometimes I need a break. And not just for sleep, either." That problem at least he'd gotten under control. Every other night was his, every other someone else was keeping an ear on the kid so he got to sleep. The funny thing was, he was doing a lot less all-nighters now. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing. He wasn't getting any younger; perhaps it was time to stop pretending he was twenty. Not that he still wasn't in the prime of his life, of course, but he couldn't stay up quite as much anymore.

"I should scold you for using such words about your own son, you know."

"Is spawn better?" Tony grinned. "You can't argue with that, it carries more bad connotations for me than it does for him. I'm totally at a liberty to label my own offspring my spawn if I want to. You know, demonspawn, Starkspawn, basically the same thing."

"You're impossible, you know that?" And yet Steve was chuckling, so obviously he couldn't have been doing anything terribly wrong.

"Of course I am. Impossibly handsome and smart and witty. Really, there should be a law against me, though now that I think about it there just might be in a couple of states, I'm important like that."

"Self-important, certainly." And really, what had he done to deserve such cheek from Captain Saintly?

"Hush, I'm just aware of my own value." Wait. When had his finger gotten to Steve's lips? In a hushing motion, yes, but still. His finger wasn't supposed to have anything to do with Steve's lips, that way lay madness and destruction. He quickly drew it away, trapping his hands behind his back to prevent any such mistakes in the future.

"Ah. That's good." Wait. Was Steve blushing? No, he couldn't have been, Tony was just seeing things. It was the poor lighting, that was all.

"Of course it is. Everything I do is good." He stepped closer, and he could have sworn he could feel the heat radiating from Steve's body, god, the supersoldier metabolism was one hell of a thing. A breeze caught the hairs at the nape of his neck, then, sending a shiver down his spine, and oh how he wanted some of that warmth right now.

Steve chuckled, such a warm, inviting sound, and something inside Tony that he had been fighting for a while now finally snapped. He stepped in, closing the rest of the distance between them, and leaned up. He wasn't a short man, thank you very much Barton, but then anyone was short compared with Steve. Reaching up, though, he managed to catch the man by surprise, brushing his lips against Steve's.

The moment only lasted for fraction of a second, and then he was backing away, mind still reeling slightly from what he'd done. Steve seemed to be dazed, or at least he didn't react right away, which Tony decided was a blessing. He didn't need to deal with that just yet.

"Uh. Ah. I think I heard Peter cry." He hadn't, of course, but he could have, it was utterly plausible, the kid didn't always sleep without a worry after all, and really he should have already been inside checking on his poor son. "I'll, ah. I'll go check on him."

Steve looked like he was about to say something, but Tony turned around, striding inside with a purpose. He wasn't about to stand here and listen to the words he knew were about to come out, I'm sorry Tony I just don't see it that way, and that was if he was lucky. Yeah, Steve had been nothing but great about Clint and Phil, and even Tony's own little announcement, but there was a world of difference between being fine with it in theory and being fine with sudden uninvited kisses.

Calm down, Tony. Calm down, get your kid, get him to the nursery and then lock yourself away for the rest of the month. Easy, easy, nothing to worry about, it will all go away if you just hide long enough.

Hey, he could always hope.


	11. Finality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is going on in the Tower, and Pepper can't help. Fortunately, she is no more solely responsible for Tony's happiness. Things progress, as does Peter, and at some point, someone might find peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that after the first few scenes, the rest of the chapter takes place over a number of months, so Peter's not suddenly developing far ahead of schedule.

_'If anyone asks, I'm dead and gone.'_

Pepper blinked down at her phone. She hadn't asked, precisely, but truth be told, she wasn't sure this was entirely unexpected. This was Tony, after all. There was very little she would have filed under "unexpected" coming from him, anymore.

In any case, it was probably best for her peace of mind if she did not ask for clarification. He would give it if need be, hopefully at a more sensible hour. Yes, she was up and at her desk, but even so, it was far too early in the morning for her to be dealing with Tony's personal drama, whatever form it had taken this time.

She'd gotten enough of that back when Tony's personal drama had as often as not been her personal drama as well. Sure, it hadn't been her reason for drawing away, but she also wasn't all that eager to go back into that mess. It was bad enough watching it from the sidelines as a friend.

Contrary to her wishes, it wasn't much later that she received another text. This time, it wasn't from Tony, though; instead, the message appeared to be from Natasha. _'Stark has done something idiotic.'_

Well, wasn't that a surprise. This time, she took her attention away from her files for long enough to type back, _'What is it?'_

_'I don't know,'_ came the reply almost immediately. _'But Cap seems out of sorts and I know it's Stark's doing.'_

Well. That certainly meant something was up, but it also meant she was probably better off not knowing just now. Clearly she would be informed the moment the rest of the Tower were aware of what was going on. If they had any luck, perhaps one of the two had finally done something about their entirely requited crushes.

No, she was not an idiot, and she knew what Tony looked like when he was watching someone he wanted. She'd seen that gaze directed at herself often enough, after all, had seen it and recognized it in the way Tony watched Steve. It was in his eyes, in the way he actually listened when Steve said something, the way he let Steve get away with things he would never have tolerated from anyone else. The only question remaining in her mind had been whether Tony himself had realized the truth or whether he had managed to rationalize it into something else entirely.

The amazing thing was, it didn't even hurt anymore, not really. Tony wasn't hers anymore, she had given that up, and now all she could hope for was that Tony might find happiness with someone else instead.

There was silence from the Tower for some time, letting her sink back to her work, rather happy for the distraction from that kind of thoughts. Just because she had accepted it, just because it wasn't painful anymore, did not mean she cared to dwell on it overly much.

It was well into the afternoon when the next message arrived, this time from Phil. _'Do you have any idea why Tony is sulking? He has locked himself in his lab.'_

_'No idea. Natasha thinks it might have to do with Steve.'_

There was no further response, merely a short acknowledgment of a message received. Well, Phil would handle things if there was anything that could actually be done. And if there wasn't, well, that was just as well. Tony would sulk, or possibly just hide away from his own actions, until someone broke through or he got bored of the same four walls.

Usually it was Steve who got through to him, nowadays. She wondered if that would hold true for this time as well.

There was a meeting, then, and she set her cell phone to silent for the duration. As she checked it afterwards, there were several messages piled up, from various members of the Avengers.

_'Tony's locked up in his workshop. Is there any way to convince him to let me in?'_ From Steve, the poor thing. Either Tony was so out of sorts he had actually disabled Steve's overrides, or the poor captain was too much of a gentleman to use them. Surely he had to know his door codes weren't standard. Though possibly not, if Tony hadn't thought to tell him. He did sometimes forget the most obvious things.

_'Steve's trying to get to Tony. I figured they needed a little break, whatever happened, so Cap wrestling it is. I want it known that someone owes me for this.'_ And there was Clint, dependable as ever. Pepper's lips curled just a bit. It was good to know she wasn't the only one trying to clean up the messes Tony made, anymore.

_'The two problem children are now both sulking. Tony won't admit anything is going on, but he won't let anyone in, and Steve is sighing like a puppy whose owner is out for the day. I do not recall signing up for running a kindergarten.'_ Natasha again. Which made Pepper think of Peter, and she asked who was looking after the child.

_'Phil has him for the moment. He's supposed to give him back to Tony after dinner, which means he's got to come out then. Or at least open the door. I wouldn't put it past Steve to try and sneak in behind Phil.'_

No, Pepper wouldn't have put it past him, either. For grown men they could be incredibly childish sometimes.

There was no further information for a while, then. It wasn't until she was gathering her things, ready to leave the office, that there was one more message. From Tony, this time. She wondered how long he'd been staring at his phone before pressing send.

_'I kissed Steve last night and I think he's going to hate me forever.'_

And wasn't that just heartbreaking, though not in the way she might have expected it to be. Here was Tony, Tony who had finally come to terms with his feelings, Tony Stark the king of tabloids, afraid that a single kiss might have driven away the man who would have gladly died for him.

Though then, perhaps Tony hadn't realized that yet. It would certainly have been typical of him to miss such things.

_'Steve could never hate you,'_ she typed back with one hand, tapping at her computer to save the open files. _'Just talk to him.'_

_'I can't. I kissed him without asking and he's going to hate him and I'm going to have to move out of my own damn Tower, Pepper, this is an outrage, how did my life come to this.'_ He had to have been dictating the message to send it that fast, not even Tony typed so fast on his phone, certainly not when he was out of sorts. She could just see him in her mind's eye, hands almost shaking as he told JARVIS the message to be sent, the other hand dangling a toy in front of Peter's reaching hands.

_'It will work out.'_ It had to work out, because she did not know how to fix things. It was their responsibility, now, she had given up her part in Tony's love life a long time ago.

And perhaps, just perhaps, it might have hurt too much, but she wished him happiness anyway.

She had never wished him anything but happiness.

*

Tony set aside his phone and sighed, looking over to his son. Peter appeared utterly uninterested in his current crisis, only paying attention to the toy he was trying to gnaw apart by the looks of it. As Tony touched his hand, Peter gave a small gurgling sound.

"You at least have an easy life, kid." He leaned back in his chair, hand resting on the edge of Peter's bassinet. "All you have to worry about is getting too big for that thing, because I'll be damned if I let you keep sleeping there once you can get over the edge. Pepper would kill me and not in a good way."

In response, Peter moved his toothless little mouth to the face of the stuffed Hulk he was trying to decimate. It was a vain effort, of course, it would have taken more than one tiny baby to take apart even a toy version of the big guy, but Tony had to admire the boy's determination anyway.

"I'd tell you to avoid romances altogether, but then that's the policy I was following for most of my life, and look at me. And I can't on good conscience tell you to avoid people altogether, because I'm self-aware enough to know that having people close is probably the only reason I'm still alive. And that's ignoring tiny things like getting my life saved by pretty much everyone on this damn team."

Peter gave him a look that was quite clear on his opinion on Tony's life choices. It was kind of disconcerting how a baby could look so disapproving. At least Tony chose to interpret the look as disapproving, because the other option was that he was trying to fill his diaper, and Tony'd just as well not think about that right now, thanks.

"It's weird, isn't it. I mean, you're a prime example, kid. I spent pretty much all my life swearing I'd avoid becoming my father by never becoming a father at all, and given my lifestyle, avoiding that was a full-time job sometimes. And then you come along, quite by accident, and I took you in because the alternative was being even worse than my old man. At least he took the opportunity to get to know me before he decided to dump me somewhere else. I couldn't have left you alone without at least trying. And, well, I am pretty bad about letting others get their hands on things I've made. There's a reason Dummy's still here even though he's practically never any help, and it's not because he's such a stellar conversationalist. So, yeah. I make decisions, and then when it comes to it I break my decisions because the other choices are something I could never follow through with."

Peter blinked, apparently utterly unaware that his position had ever been under question. Better keep it that way for now.

"And then there's everyone else. I first asked Bruce here because, well, because he had nowhere else to go, at least nowhere else I would have let him go. He's a good man, certainly better than I am, and doesn't deserve to be hunted down like some kind of an animal, and God knows SHIELD would have been one step up from throwing him in jail, and not a big step at that. So I took him in because I had the room, and because I enjoy his company, and because I honestly am not afraid the other guy will some day wring my head off. Well, at least I trust that if that happens, I'll have deserved it. It's not really hard, I probably deserve that most of the time."

Peter snorted a bit and drew his toy Hulk closer to his drooling mouth. Smart boy.

"And the assassins, yeah, not much I could have done there. I mean, sure, they pretty much invited themselves in, but I was going to do it anyway. Better have them owing something to me, you know? Much better for my chances of survival." Because that was absolutely the only reason, now hush. "And then they brought Agent in, because of course I'd let the Agent in, not like I can stop him when JARVIS obviously likes him better than me." And JARVIS did not even speak up to argue, the traitor. "And Steve... Steve. He had nowhere to go, either, and I probably shouldn't have invited him to move in, not after the way we fought. But I did, and it turned out to be nice, even though he's utterly different from the man my father told me he was."

Peter blinked at him. Oh, the innocence. Some day he would actually understand what Tony was saying, and when that day arrived, well, Tony just hoped it wouldn't drive the kid too far away. He was too old to do much of chasing about.

"He was always speaking of Steve, you know. Always telling me how great the Captain was, how much he wanted to find him. Always went out looking, too, every year, even though we all thought there was no way he could have survived. But daddy dearest looked and looked, because that was the only person he ever truly cared about. I mean, yeah, there was mom, I suppose he had some feelings for her, but I was always very much aware that I was not Steve Rogers. I wasn't as good, not as strong or brave or heroic, and it didn't matter how smart I was or how great my inventions were because I wasn't a hero and thus wasn't worth his time." He gave a bitter little laugh. "And then the man himself shows up and tells me the same thing."

Peter finally let go of the toy with one hand, reaching it towards Tony instead, perhaps in a show of support or more likely because he had no idea what Tony was babbling about and his reactions had no bearing to what was being said. It was kind of like talking to a bot, except the bots at least had some idea of what he was saying, even though their understanding was limited. Either way, Peter wasn't going to disagree with him or offer him advice that he knew was good but didn't want to follow, and for now that was all he had.

"I sometimes wondered if my dad had been in love with him, you know." Tony let his voice soften, reaching for Peter's hand. Tiny fingers curled around his fingertip, holding on tight, and the boy giggled. "Yeah, you can laugh, but it was what I thought for a long time. He was always speaking of Steve in such warm tones, never stopped looking for him. I never even heard him speaking of mom in that way, and I know he was at least fond of her even though I never imagined it was some kind of epic romance for the ages. And I couldn't fault him, really. I mean, look what I did. The guy shows up, giving me the same kind of shit I've gotten my whole life, shoving aside everything I've ever accomplished, and what do I do? I invite him to move in and let him become my friend and fall for him."

Peter tugged at his finger. A nice, firm grip, just like a baby was supposed to have.

"Never planned for that, you know. Certainly not after Pepper. I was sure I'd grow old and bitter without ever loving anyone else. And here is Steve, so good and heroic and annoying, and I can't help but fall for the guy. He doesn't even know what he's like, I bet. He's such good goodness throughout, there's no way he's aware of how he seems to the rest of us. All shining paragon of all things good and heroic, and I should hate him for it, should hate him for the way my dad never cared for me as much as he cared for the ghost of the man, but I can't help but love him instead." He gave another bitter chuckle. "Love. Hah. Like I know what that even is."

Peter blinked, big dark eyes studying him with the kind of intensity he couldn't ignore.

"I can't promise you much," he murmured. "I mean, aside from the materialistic sense. I can't promise I'll be a good dad, can't promise you won't hate me when you grow up, most days I can't even promise I'll come back when I walk out the door. My dad never promised those things, and it's a good thing he did, because at least there was nothing broken when I was left a hot mess at seventeen, without a soul in the world to actually care about me. And no, I'm not counting Obadiah. But for you, I promise to try. I'll try to be what you need, even though I'll probably fail, and every time I put on that suit and go out, I'll do it with the intention of coming back. For all that I could argue about how my life is mine to do with as I wish, I lost my right to think about ending it when I took responsibility for you. Because you don't deserve to be that bitter orphan with nobody around you, no matter how much of a mess I've made of my life. And, well, I always wanted to be better than my father. Even in the things that he didn't consider important at all."

Finally he leaned over, picking Peter up. The baby let his toy fall, easily adjusting to being lifted up, curling up to Tony's chest as though he was someone to be trusted. Such a stupid child, sometimes.

"I'm not Captain America, and never could be. You're not him, either, and I won't ask you to be. Because that would be unfair of me, and you ought to be important regardless of who or what you are, and just because I fell for the man and then drove him away doesn't mean you should suffer."

There was silence for a moment. Then, much to his shock, two strong arms wrapped themselves around both him and Peter from behind. "And if you haven't driven anyone away?" murmured Steve's voice right next to his ear.

"I locked the door." Not the most intelligent answer, to be sure, but he felt it was relevant anyway.

"I asked Phil to open the door for me. I'd apologize, but I've been trying to speak with you all day."

"Why?" Why was Steve holding him so close, one hand cradling Peter's head as though that was a thing one did?

"Because there is only one Stark I could have ever imagined falling in love with, and I was never much of a fan of Howard's mustache."

Tony laughed, a startled sound that escaped his lips without much thought, because thinking was something he could not do right now. It was just as well, really, because Steve let go then, circling around the chair until they were face to face, Steve crouched down to be on eye level with him. Tony wondered what he was going to say. Wondered if he could say anything, himself.

So it turned out Steve's lips actually were that warm, even when he wasn't comparing them with the cool outside air. Well. Who'd have guessed.

*

"Hello there." Clint dropped down on the couch next to where Phil was reading. His eyes dipped towards the child lying on the floor with a few toys. "I thought you were going to give Peter back to his dad after dinner."

"I was, and I did. I merely agreed to take him again when Tony asked me to." Phil glanced at him, then at Peter, before returning his eyes back to the book.

"Ah. Any particular reason?" Of course there was a reason. Phil did like his godson, Stark or no, but he was also a big advocate of personal responsibility. He wouldn't have let Tony mess up the schedule without a proper reason.

"Oh, I just thought it might be inappropriate for him to be around while Tony and Steve finally get to talking."

"Ohh?" Now that was news. News that made him smirk. "Do we mean actual talking, or is that just an euphemism for other things that might or might not involve mouths?"

"I'd rather hope they do some actual talking at first. Though after I messaged Pepper, she revealed that Tony had apparently kissed Steve last night and freaked out about it. It would certainly explain the way they have both been behaving today."

"I guess so. I'm pretty sure I'll have bruises from sparring with Cap earlier. Nothing bad," he hurried to say as Phil frowned. "Like Steve would ever forgive himself if he thought he'd actually hurt me. Just, you know, a good spar, a few bruises here and there, and that in itself is remarkable, since he usually holds back too much when sparring with us."

"He must have been quite distracted, then." Phil turned a page. "Though judging by the look on Tony's face, I don't think their initial conversation went too badly."

"Say, that reminds me." Clint reached out a foot to nudge a toy closer to Peter when the kid couldn't quite reach it. "How exactly did they get to the point where they are talking, literally or figuratively? I mean, wasn't Tony locked up in his workshop?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. However, I got rather sick of them avoiding their issues, so I let Steve use my entrance codes when he asked. I'm not sure Tony has even realized that mine function as general overrides no matter what he does."

Clint couldn't help but laugh. "Devious, Phil. And why doesn't it surprise me that JARVIS likes you better than Tony?"

"That is quite inaccurate, Agent Barton." Of course JARVIS would cut in, prim and proper as always. "While Sir has indeed given me the technical freedom to prefer other people to him, as he dislikes dictating the emotions of other entities, I have chosen to nevertheless make him my, as you might say, favorite. It is merely that I am aware of his weaknesses and my personal limits, and as such, have found it beneficial to make select people capable of reaching Sir at all times regardless of his instructions to me."

"I'm not sure if that's admirable or disturbing." He supposed he'd have to settle on admirable, as he doubted JARVIS would have let such overrides stand if they were used for actual evil. It was kind of great, having a sentient security system capable of making its own judgments. "So if Steve's with Tony, where are the others?"

"Last I heard, Natasha took Scarecrow and disappeared into Bruce's lab." Phil lifted his eyebrows just a fraction. "I do hope we won't have a traumatized bot in our hands."

"Nah, I happen to know they're taking it slow. Don't want to risk anything before they're sure he won't turn the moment his heartrate gets too high and all that. There's probably going to be a lot of cuddling without actual cuddling and being too sweet for their own good." As Phil gave him a dubious gaze, he shrugged. "What? They can be sweet, too. I'm not saying it's likely, and probably not what other people would consider sweet, but Nat's been surprisingly good at this whole having feelings thing lately."

"I'll just take your word for it, then." Phil leaned slightly closer to him, and Clint reached an arm around him almost automatically. "I may have told Tony I would watch Peter for the night as well if need be."

"In other words, I'm stuck with babysitting tonight. Great." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "You're going to make this up to me, right?"

"When do I ever give you some manner of hardship without endeavoring to make it up to you?"

"I'll refrain from commenting on that, if it's all the same to you." Nevertheless, he grinned as he drew Phil closer. "JARVIS? Put something good on TV. Something relatively kid-friendly, I guess, since the kidlet is there. Or at least nothing too noisy."

"As you wish, Agent Barton." There was a flicker of the screen coming alive before the movie started, sounds turned down enough to be comfortable for little ears, but loud enough that he could make out what was actually being said. Phil leaned closer, eyes still on his book, but at least he wasn't complaining about the movie being put on. Peter didn't react, finding his toys much more interesting, and the rest of the Tower was either in relative peace or at least had good enough sound-proofing that they didn't have to bear witness to anything too sordid from their fellow heroes. Though he was rather hoping for some details the next day, dirty old man that he was.

Yeah, actually, this was just fine for now.

*

Natasha raised her eyebrows as she saw where Bruce was leading her. "Mixed martial arts?"

"Ah, yes. I thought you might find it entertaining." He looked a bit sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, I know it's a bit rude of me to assume you would be interested just because you are very good yourself, I know not all people wish to watch something even if they are good at doing it, but I tried to think of something you might find interesting and --"

"Calm down." She touched his arm. "You're right, I do think it's entertaining. It's always amusing to see children who think they are dangerous."

"Natasha, these are professionals."

"Oh, believe me, I know. However, they are professionals at fighting and still hopefully having both come out alive on the other side." She slid her hand down his arm and grasped his hand. "I might have been offended if you had taken me to ballet just because I am Russian. This? This is good."

"I'm glad to hear that." And he did indeed look somewhat relieved, as though he had been very concerned about what she thought.

"Are you sure this is the best place for you to be, though?" She wasn't trying to butt into his business; if he said yes, she would not push further. If there was something she might have called a foundation for this little mockery of a relationship, it was their mutual trust that the other knew their limits. If Bruce thought this would be fine, she would believe him. "I mean, it's full of aggression and noise. I can't imagine this to be a very calming place."

"Ah, yes. I did think of that, and I think this will be fine." He gave her a wan smile, and she resisted the urge to pat him on the head. She liked him as a grown man, thanks, not an overgrown puppy, so she should not give in to any urges related to the latter impression. "The other guy has had a lot of action lately, so he should be quite calm. As long as nobody punches me, that is."

"I will block any attempts at such, then." She gave him a grin, and he returned it. Oh, in this form, she was absolutely the more dangerous one out of the two of them, and neither of them even questioned it. The most dangerous person present here, even, full of testosterone and aggression as the place seemed to be, geared up for a fight that would hopefully stay within the limits of the ring.

As she had said, children playing at being dangerous.

They found seats just in time for the match to start. It was entertaining enough, she supposed; they were rather good at what they did, and at least it wasn't show wrestling. There would be bruises afterwards, and if they weren't careful worse things as well. It was still a show to be sure, it would have been to nobody's benefit to aim for actual danger, but at least it was a step up from an elaborate play put on for the audience's benefit.

Even so, they weren't five minutes in as she started to critique the fighters' technique.

She wasn't loud about it, of course, it would have been impolite and besides a rather bad idea when they were trying to avoid fights involving themselves. She spoke in Russian, just loud enough for Bruce to catch it, keeping her words simple for his benefit. He was a fast learner, and she enjoyed teaching him, but he was still far from fluent.

"I can't help but imagine you would rather enjoy a chance to show them just how wrong they are." He was smiling, a slightly teasing expression, but not one she would have found offensive. He had full faith in her abilities, as he well should have.

"Oh, I don't know. I doubt it would be much of a challenge. Hell, Stark can give me a better workout than either of these clowns would, and he doesn't claim to be a professional fighter."

"You have to admit, he does take his training seriously, though."

"Oh, I never denied that. Still, he is technically still an amateur."

"An amateur who regularly trains with you and Clint and Steve. I'd say that counts for something."

"Hence why he would give me more of a challenge." Her lips curved, and she was about to add a comment on how Tony was still unfortunately easy to distract with her feminine wiles, but just then her cell phone made a noise. It wasn't loud, certainly not in the noise of the audience cheering for their favorite and calling for the fall of the other fighter, but it caught her ear anyway, certainly as it was echoed by the same tune from Bruce's pocket. Not either of their ringtone, that would have been stupid. The alert had to be something they could tell apart from any other call, after all.

"Well, it was nice while it lasted, I guess." Bruce sighed as he dug out his phone. There wasn't a call, that would have been rather impractical with so many people to contact, but a message flashed to the screen. Avengers Assemble.

"We'll do this again some time." It was nice enough an idea, despite Bruce's apologies, and she had indeed enjoyed it, despite her critic's approach to the matter. After all, making snarky commentary was practically an Avengers tradition when it came to approaching entertainment. Tony certainly yelled at his TV often enough.

"I certainly hope so." He stood up, deftly ignoring any loud protests from those behind them, and reached out a hand for her. "Shall we, my lady?"

"Oh, certainly." She took his hand and stood as well, following him out. They got a few dirty looks for getting in someone's way, but a cold look from her was enough to silence any protests. Or perhaps it was the way she just might have let one or two of them glimpse the knife she had on her, just in case. Hey, she had never claimed to be a nice person.

It was time for an actual fight, and one she would doubtlessly enjoy much more than this little bit of playacting.

And either way, she would be by his side, so she supposed the date hadn't been utterly ruined after all.

*

"Widow, Captain, we've got hostiles approaching your position."

"Got it." Natasha's voice was breathy, as much as it ever was. He didn't blame her; she'd just ran a couple of blocks to get where she was now. "Any idea what to do about these yet?"

"We're exploring possibilities." Which was something he hated saying, because it was basically just a nicer way of telling them he had no idea what they should do besides just try to keep from getting killed.

"I still say salt would be a good idea." And there was Iron Man, of course, he never could stay out of the conversation for long, even when he should have been more concerned with the enemies. Not that he had much to worry about, of course; these enemies were very firmly tied to the ground, so he could fly around as he pleased.

"Much though I hate to say this, I agree with Stark." Clint, then, with the faint sound of an arrow loosed in the background, the bowstring singing in the air. A moment later he saw an explosion on the screen, lovingly captured by the cameras on Iron Man's armor. "I mean, they're basically just giant slugs, right? So what works on the little ones should work on them, too."

"Except these are space slugs. We have no idea whether they'll react the same way." He sighed, then. "But, fine, not like we have much else to do. So far only the explosions are making much of a dent." Oh, Iron Man's repulsor blasts did some damage, but not enough to slow the things down. And for something that indeed looked like slugs the size of a car, they were much faster than Phil would have preferred.

"It's a solid theory. What little scans I've managed to make say there's a lot of water in those things." Iron Man swooped higher. "Hang on, I'll see if I can't find a grocery store nearby."

"There's one close to us. I'll duck in for a second." And then Widow was off. Good. If the Captain had done the retrieval, he would have doubtlessly insisted on paying right away, slowing things down, even though all the civilians had fled in a more or less orderly panic from the next half a dozen blocks. So much easier to leave it all for the aftermath.

There was a small sound from his side, and he glanced at Peter. The little one was busy playing with his toys on the floor. As Phil looked over, his godson gave him a big, toothless smile and reached for another toy.

"Got it. Let's see if I can't get rid of at least one or two of these suckers." Iron Man, again; of course he wouldn't have wasted any time. Phil could already see the photos spreading about, of the great and grand hero flying about the sky with his arms full of boxes of salt. "Science is truly grand."

"Indeed." He looked at his displays again. It was not quite the same set-up as he'd dealt with at some of the better organized SHIELD operations, but he wasn't complaining. An up-to-date blueprint of the city blocks they were dealing with, the Avengers tracked on the map by the second, with various reports updating him on the positions of the hostiles. Tony was currently working on the idea of unmanned camera drones that would get him constant video streaming of the whole area; for now, though, he had to content himself with Iron Man's suit cameras and whatever satellites happened to be aimed at the area at the moment.

There was another sound, the usual babbling of a baby, and he glanced to the side. Peter was now climbing up on the side of a spare chair, one hand reaching for a toy that had somehow ended up on top of the chair. As Phil watched, his knees left the ground, little feet planting themselves firmly on the floor.

Someone was shouting over the comm link, probably Stark, judging by the triumphant tone. He always did take some satisfaction in having one of his ideas work, and from what Phil could see from the suit's cameras, this was definitely working. The alien slug fizzed as it rapidly melted, still trying to struggle forward even as its body was converted into little more than an unresponsive puddle of goo.

"Hell yes! Osmosis, baby!" And what was his life that this was a thing he might hear and not even think it strange?

Peter had reached the toy now, holding it firmly in one small hand. The other hand was holding onto the chair, holding him up. He turned to look at Phil, then, holding the toy up in triumph. Phil smiled in response and then glanced at the screens again.

"Okay, so salt seems to work. Cap, Widow, Iron Man, try to locate all of it that you can find. Hawkeye, Hulk, you'll have to make sure the slugs don't get to them before they're properly armed. Let's get this done, people."

Something was poking at his side. That couldn't be. Peter was standing by the chair, which was a couple of meters away. Yet, as he looked down, there was his godson, grinning broadly and poking him with the toy Widow.

"Stark?" He looked down again, just to make sure he had seen right. "I think your son has just learned to walk." Peter was clinging to the edge of his chair with one hand, yes, but that was at least two meters from the last point of support. And he knew Peter wasn't quick enough in his movements yet to get down, crawl over, and climb up to his feet in that time just yet.

"What? Where? Where is he? He hasn't run away, has he?"

"No, no running yet, but he did apparently cross a considerable distance while I was looking at the screens." He leaned down to pick Peter up, bringing him up to his lap, though careful not to let the child get his hands on the various buttons. "Let's wrap this up quickly so we can hopefully confirm this back at home, hmm?"

There were alien slugs in Manhattan, and they were battling them with all the table salt they could find, and the youngest Avenger seemed to think nothing of his great triumph as he bounced the Widow doll off the surface of the table and busied himself with almost-coherent babble. Soon enough everyone would be gathering together, in dire need of showers and pitying whoever was responsible for the clean-up, but ultimately just fine. There would still be more to do, like investigating the way the slugs had appeared in the first place, but all that could wait until later.

It wasn't SHIELD, it never would be SHIELD, but right now, Phil wasn't sure he minded at all.

*

Everything was quiet.

Okay, so that was a lie, in as much as he cared about being perfectly accurate. It was never perfectly quiet in the Tower, couldn't have been. There was the nigh imperceptible hum of the air conditioning, the distant sounds of New York living its life outside the windows, the quiet whir of his laptop, forgotten in the corner of the room. The bed made a small sound as he shifted, the sheets sliding along his skin, a thousand other sounds for his ears to catch, because no, it would never be entirely quiet. However, it was quiet enough, thank you, and his inner pedant could just fall silent as well. Or at least stop sounding like Tony trying to wind him up.

One of the small sounds came from his side, and he turned to look. Natasha was asleep, one hand tucked under her cheek, looking as innocent as she was ever capable of. Even in slumber, she seemed to radiate danger, a coiled spring ready to launch into action any moment. For now, though, she was choosing to be relaxed, to rest here beside him, and really, that was all he could have asked for.

She made no more sounds, just the silent rhythm of her breaths, mimicking his own in the empty lull of the bedroom. She didn't always sleep so restfully, he knew that much, had seen her jerk awake with wide eyes and thin lips often enough to know. She never shared such dreams with him, and he never asked, just as she never asked anymore when she found him up in the middle of the night. They all had their dreams, their ghosts from the pasts they couldn't quite escape, and it was just common courtesy not to go digging into such traumas unless the other volunteered information of their own accord. So he didn't know what she dreamed of, he only knew that sometimes she did, and that sometimes she would wake up and wander off and no she actually did not require company at such times, while at other times he would wake to find her curled up close, clinging to him as though he were the only certain thing in the world.

It was a sad world, wasn't it, where he might offer even momentary stability to anyone.

She was sleeping peacefully this time, though, and he hadn't woken from a nightmare either, merely drifting awake as his body decided against any more rest. He wasn't certain of the hour, except that it was dark outside. It hadn't been so late when he went to sleep, falling into bed after their last mission, too exhausted to even think of anything else. She must have joined him at some point, climbing into his bed just like that, as though it was something she did. She had seen him during the battle, had seen the rage and power of the other guy, and had chosen to join him in sleep afterwards.

He was, Bruce decided, a very fortunate man.

He was careful in getting out of bed, doing his best not to wake her. He'd had enough of a presence of mind to at least have underwear on, he noted, which was a definite improvement. Not that it would have been the first time someone wandered about the Tower in a less than decent state, but he did at least make an attempt when he wasn't too exhausted to care. Besides, Tony seemed to take such things as a challenge, and that just made Steve blush. Which was entertaining, certainly, but not necessarily something he wanted to encourage.

Natasha didn't stir as he sneaked out of the room and then down the corridor. There was nobody in the kitchen as he got there, which almost surprised him, but there was still fresh coffee in the coffeemaker, bearing witness to the fact that he wasn't the only one who had been up and about at such an hour. Tony, probably, since most of the others avoided too much caffeine in the middle of the night even if they were up. Tony claimed he had long since grown immune, which was only half untrue. For now, Bruce was simply grateful, as he certainly didn't feel like sleeping any more. He usually preferred tea, but even he could occasionally see the benefits of more concentrated caffeine.

The coffee was still hot, a nice jolt to the system as he sipped at it, leaning against a counter. He was getting more awake, now, his system rested enough after the post-battle crash. The other guy was quiet, hiding somewhere at the back of his mind, always present but not quite as clear right now. Bruce supposed even he would get tired sometimes.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed in the kitchen, staring into his empty cup long after the coffee had run out. It was pleasant, he supposed, the peace and silence, knowing the lack of sound wasn't merely a foreboding of something he would rather have avoided. Outside, sun started its slow trek across the sky, but here, in the Tower, everyone was, for the moment, at peace.

Steve was the first one to appear, yawning a good morning at him before starting to dabble at making breakfast. Tony followed not soon after, carrying an entirely too chipper child and a tablet streaming some news program or another. The Avengers had done a good job, Bruce heard as Tony sidled closer to steal a kiss from Steve, had saved lives and property and weren't they just the most heroic heroes of all. He supposed it was good, though he remembered very little.

Phil dragged Clint into the kitchen, the archer pausing in his exaggerated exhaustion for long enough to leer at Bruce in what he doubtlessly believed to be an amusing manner, receiving a chuckle in return. Natasha was the last, not a hair out of place as she strode in, handing Bruce a shirt and pants. He got them on without much of a fuss, not bothering to ask how she had known he wouldn't be properly dressed. Clothes were rarely his main concern after a transformation, certainly not when surrounded by the people who had seen him in every state of undress imaginable.

The silence was making way for quiet chatter, Tony's banter and the sounds from the tablet and Peter's courageous attempts at human speech, life filling what had been an empty room not long before. Steve finished his cooking, calling everyone to the table, and yes, that was good, too. In the news people talked about what the Avengers had done, how much they had risked and how gloriously they had triumphed, while the Avengers themselves busied themselves with food and juice and coffee, as amicable a breakfast scene as any actual family might have dreamed of.

It wasn't a bad life, Bruce decided, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice much louder and deeper than his agreed. Not a bad life at all.

He was certainly happy that it was his.

*

There were many graveyards Steve had visited in search of his old friends.

It hadn't really been that difficult to find them all, thanks to Tony's information and SHIELD's files, not in the sense that he had known where to find them all. It also hadn't been easy, going up to each grave in turn, knowing that what awaited was yet another piece of evidence that everything he had once known was gone. Every grave, every neat row of tombstones, had been another step away from that which had been.

The graves had been different, just as his men had been. There had been some left alone, with nothing but a name and a pair of dates to mark that there had ever been such a man, that someone he remembered so very clearly had ever existed. Others had company, a beloved resting beside them perhaps, or fresh flowers when he went for a visit. Only once had he encountered someone else mourning them, but then that had also been his most memorable visit. And the one graveyard where he had made two visits at once, Gabriel and Jacques sleeping side by side, having missed him by a couple of brief, meaningless years.

He'd wondered sometimes what might have happened if he'd come back earlier, if he had been there to see them. He had wondered if he would have recognized them, if they would have recognized him, if they'd had anything to speak about. Their lives had gone on, after all, while Steve had found himself frozen in time, counting mere months since he'd last seen his friends, his little ragtag excuse for a family. They had seen so much more, more battles and more hardships and more years, raised families and buried friends and finally been returned to the earth. He had done none of that, had accomplished nothing, and yet here he was, the celebrated Captain, while his men all slept forgotten under the ground, unnamed and unknown. It wasn't fair, it never had been fair, yet sometimes, standing in front of yet another name and date so very close but forever out of his reach, he had wondered if he hadn't had the most difficult part. He had lost everything at once, after all, with nothing left to carry him on, and nobody to stand by his side anymore.

He had a grave, too, he had found out, a beautiful little monument in Arlington, as though he deserved to be there. He didn't, of course, even aside from the fact that he was not in fact dead, hadn't done anything worthy of such a place. There were actual heroes there, countless men and women so much more deserving of the place, yet people passed them by countless times each day.

His grave there was a mockery, a farce. He hadn't known what to do with it, but then, neither had anyone else. There had hardly been a standard operating procedure for when a honored dead happened to return. In the end, after some nudging from Tony, his rather grandiose tombstone had been removed, replaced with a memorial to the members of the Howling Commandos who actually had passed on. Most of them lay elsewhere, in family graves or hometown grounds or overseas, yet here their names were carved in stone, one by one, together as they had stood in battle.

His name wasn't there, wasn't supposed to be. There was a place left for it, a blank line where his name might have otherwise gone, but it would wait for what he hoped was a long time yet. His men slumbered on, but he had other people relying on him now, other fighters to lead, a new family to rely on for his life and death.

Not other soldiers. They weren't soldiers, weren't supposed to be, and he kept reminding himself of that. Avengers weren't soldiers, weren't supposed to follow orders without question and slay their enemies without hesitation, and while the Commandos had done a great service it wasn't their time anymore.

"Steve?" The voice broke him out of his thoughts. His hand hovered over the blank line where his name would one day go, right beneath the last name in the list. James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant. "Steve, not to rush you or anything, but we're supposed to meet the others soon."

"Right." He stood up, brushing dirt off his knees from where he had knelt in front of the memorial. "I'm done."

"We do have a few minutes before we have to go, if you want." Tony adjusted his sunglasses, one hand reaching back to pat Peter's side where the child was dozing against his back. It was strange, how natural he looked like that, and Steve was not entirely convinced it was just his attempt not to be recognized.

"No, I think I'm done." He offered a small smile. "Besides, if I'm not mistaken, Peter's going to wake up soon. I'd rather not still be here when he does."

"Oh, I don't know. It might have a nice symbolism, you know, the sounds of new life here among the graves and all that." Tony tilted his head a bit, a familiar smirk rising to his lips. The glasses and cap he had on his head did little to disguise him from Steve's eyes, though he wasn't sure whether it was the disguise or some sense of respect that had left them in peace during the visit.

Well, either way, it was about time they rejoined the world. "Even so, I'm pretty sure we're not supposed to make too much noise in a graveyard." He stepped to Tony's side, taking the sunglasses he had tucked to the collar of his shirt and putting them on his face. It would have been of little use for Tony to walk around in disguise if Steve trailed his side with his face in full view.

"Oh, you're just too mindful of little things like that." Tony flashed him a grin, so very familiar, and Steve couldn't help but smile in return. "Or are you perhaps implying that my son doesn't know how to behave himself in a solemn situation? Shame on you, Steve, my loyal honeypuff."

"I'm merely concerned that he might be too young to tell the difference between a solemn situation and a relaxed one." His arm found its way to Tony's waist almost of its own accord, but that was fine. Peter slumbered on despite the arm right below his feet, and Tony certainly didn't seem to complain. "So where will we meet the others?"

"We'll meet up at the restaurant, and yes, I left us enough time to get parked, too. Hawkass and his minder are running late, but I'm confident they'll cut some of that on the way, I've seen the way Agent drives when he's short on time."

"I should probably be telling you to behave." Yet all he could do was smile, drawing Tony just a little bit closer. "You want to drive, or should I?"

"I'm driving. And it's your turn to get junior into his car seat."

"Of course." He glanced over his shoulder, one last time, at the white stone and long-lost names, unmoving, unchanging. Nothing would change them now, their names or their destinies, because everything they were to do had already come to pass, for better or worse. Steve, though, had still some small chance to make a difference, to leave the world better than he had found it, to do half as much as any one of the people whose resting places they were passing by with each peaceful step.

There was a blank line for his name, and until it was carved down for all to see, he could still do some good. At least, he could have some part in seeing who might come and read the names when his was the last one there. Not that he wanted that to happen any time soon, of course. He had something to live for, now, someone to live with.

This time, when his name was called, it was not from under the ground.


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor has returned. A lot has happened for him to hear about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we finally come to an end. Thank you to all who have taken the time to read this far! I hope I've been able to offer some enjoyment.

Sometimes, Thor mused, Heimdall had the best aim of all. He hadn't had much evidence of such before, when his travels had not been so very precise to begin with, but here he was, precisely where he had requested. The newly repaired Bifrost had brought him on the grand balcony of Tony's home, the very place where he had fought his brother. The signs of the battle were gone now, the broken parts of the building repaired or replaced, leaving everything smooth and shining for him to admire. And there was the row of windows, separating him from the inside of the building, with one of them already open as though in invitation.

Well, invitations were always good. Thor marched across the balcony and right inside, trusting he would be welcome.

At first he thought the house was empty, and wondered why they would have left it so easy to access, though he did doubt just anyone would have been able to reach such heights. Then, however, a voice spoke from somewhere he couldn't quite place. "Sir? Sir, it appears you have a guest."

"Huh?" And here was Tony, peeking out from behind one of the couches in the room, looking a bit ruffled. His hair was a mess, but his face took on a happy grin as he saw Thor. "Thor! Thor, buddy, about time you got back here! It's been ages."

"I do apologize, friend Tony." He walked closer as Tony got up to his feet, rounding the couch. "I have been rather busy in Asgard, I am afraid, and then we had to rebuild the Bifrost before I could justify my return. Here I am, though, with no responsibilities for the moment."

"That's great. We've kind of been waiting for you, you know. If you'd like to take part in any more world saving, we've got you covered." Thor had been wondering just what had occupied him so close to the floor. Now, coming face to face with the man, he finally located the reason in the form of a small human child sitting on the floor with a couple of soft toys in front of him. Clearly, Tony had been playing with the child.

"Ah, that is quite the fine child! Ought I to congratulate you and your Lady Pepper? That was the name of your beloved, was it not?" Because clearly this was Tony's child, even to his untrained eye. Though he was too young to bear much of a resemblance yet, the dark eyes were precisely the same as the child looked up at him. "I wish I had known, I would certainly have brought appropriate gifts to the young one. It is always a cause for celebration when a shield brother finds himself a father."

"Ah, uh, about that." Tony rubbed the back of his neck, appearing somewhat disconcerted. "He's not ours. I mean, yeah, he's mine, but not Pepper's."

"Friend Tony." Thor frowned. "I never expected you to be so without honor."

"I'm not! I swear, nope. It's just... well, Pepper and I, it's not really a thing anymore. Hasn't been for a while. And before you ask, yes, she left me, and that was before I got started on this whole fatherhood thing, so please don't frown at me like that."

"Ah." He relaxed minutely. It would have been quite unfortunate to find out that one he had placed so much trust in would have turned out to have no honor. "So who is his mother, then?"

"No longer with us, I'm afraid. She passed when little Peter here was born." He must have seen the concern on Thor's face, as he hurried to say, "No, I'm not utterly broken about it or anything. I mean, of course it's sad, she was a great woman, but she wasn't the love of my life or anything. If nothing had happened, she would've raised Peter on her own, with no involvement from me."

"I see." He didn't, not truly, but then he did not have the details, and as long as nobody had been wronged they were not exactly his business until Tony chose to share them with him. "So Peter is his name, was it?"

"Exactly. Peter Yinsen Stark." Tony bent down to pick up the child. "Peter, say hi to Thor."

For a moment the child just looked at Thor with inquisitive eyes, then his mouth turned into a tiny smile. "Hi."

"Greetings to you as well, Peter Tonason." Thor gave a grave nod. Yes, this was but a child, but each warrior had been a child once, and to slight them when they were small and weak might have made for unfortunate grudges at the time when they were rather much stronger. If nothing else, he had learned that much from the debacle with his wayward brother. "What else has happened here on Midgard that I should know about, besides the arrival of your son?"

"Oh, quite a lot." Tony turned and beckoned for him to follow, which he of course did. "For one thing, the lot of us moved in here. You know, those of us who helped with the invasion. We've got our own team now, for when there's stuff going on that SHIELD can't handle. It's been working pretty well, and I've got plenty of babysitters for the times when I need to actually get something done."

"Ah, a band of brothers working together is always a delight. And sisters, of course." Because he had no doubt Lady Natasha would have been just as cross with him for being omitted as Lady Sif would have in the same situation.

"Indeed. If you want, we've certainly got a spot open for another big, burly man with fabulous hair." Tony threw him a grin over his shoulder. "At the very least, you've got to stay for dinner. We've got everyone home tonight, and I really need to introduce you to Pepper. She refuses to believe you speak like you do, even though we've all been vouching for it. Oh, and Jane's coming as well. That at least you'll want to see, right?"

"My Lady Jane?" Thor smiled. "I was rather hoping that you would know where I could find her. And now you tell me she will be here tonight?"

"Oh, yeah. She's been working with me on this one project, so of course she's included in our dinner plans. Though now I'm rather afraid the two of you will just disappear the moment you see each other." Tony gave a disapproving sound.

"Oh, certainly not. I wouldn't dismiss your hospitality in such a manner, however glad I am to be seeing her at last."

"Good to hear. Bruce gets a little testy when people back out of his dinner parties, and nobody wants to annoy him if they can avoid it." They reached another room, and Tony peeked in. "Oi, Agent! Guess who came for a visit?"

"Who?" said a voice, and Thor was certain he was having a dream, or perhaps they had encountered a restless spirit that chose to haunt this place, because that was not the voice of a man living. And yet as they walked further into what seemed to be a kitchen, there stood the man himself, appearing to be as clearly of flesh and blood as Thor himself as he sipped at a cup of coffee, leaning against a counter as though he had never died. "Ah, Thor. I have to say it has been a while."

"Son of Coul!" The man looked alive and whole, even though Thor had last seen him pierced by Loki's cruel blade. "If I ever were to meet you again, I would have expected it to be in the halls of fair Valhalla, not back on Midgard!" Clearly such a brave man would have passed nowhere else.

"I think I'll just ignore all the metaphysical implications of that statement, if that's all the same to you." Yet Agent Coulson looked amused, so Thor trusted he hadn't made some unintentional slight. "I hope your visit doesn't herald any particular trouble this time? Anything concerning your brother, perhaps?"

"Oh, no. I am here purely for my own sake. Asgard is as much at peace as it ever is, and Loki is safe and secure where he belongs." Which still pained him, but as long as Loki refused to see any fault in his actions, it was impossible for any mercy to be extended his way. "Rather, with a minor matter of a war in the brewing safely diffused, I took the opportunity to come back to see my friends again at last." And his Lady Jane, of course, the one he had missed the most.

"Well, you couldn't have had a better timing. I'm sure Tony has let you know about our dinner party tonight, hasn't he? You'll be able to meet everyone at once." Coulson smiled. "That reminds me, Tony, you probably should make a couple of calls to make sure everyone knows we're expecting more guests."

"Why should I? JARVIS can let everyone know, I'm sure of it. Can't you, JARVIS?"

"Certainly, Sir. However, I might point out that some of your friends might find this somewhat impersonal, and would prefer a call from you, or even a visit. After all, there is still plenty of time until dinner, and with most of the team currently on the premises, it might not be a bad idea for you to show the prince around."

"Great idea!" Tony grinned broadly. "Oh, you've got to see the shooting range I made, it's state of the art is what it is. And Peter will be very happy to see Papa Steve, won't you, Petey?"

The child giggled, waving his arms in an excited manner. "Papa!"

Thor frowned. "I thought he was your child?" Certainly he recalled Tony mentioning as much. And the resemblance...

"Ah, yes, about that." Tony seemed a bit sheepish, adjusting the child on his arm. "You know how I said Pepper and I aren't a thing anymore? Well, instead, there's this little thing called Steve and I. And being the ridiculously good man he is, Steve also seems quite happy to claim Peter as his own as well, so Papa it is."

"Don't worry about it just yet," Agent Coulson said as Thor opened his mouth for a question. "I'm sure you'll hear all the details you could ever need tonight."

"Indeed." Clearly a lot had happened here in his absence, and a part of him rather doubted it could be addressed in a single night, however numerous those sharing their good tidings were.

Well. It was certainly a good thing he had made no promises as to when he would be returning to Asgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious: Yes, I do have an idea for a sequel. No, I likely won't be writing it any time soon; I'm planning to focus on my other series, [Instructions for Assembly](http://archiveofourown.org/series/65723) for the rest of the year. However, I'm hoping to get to work on the sequel before Avengers 2 ~~ruins everything~~ mixes things up, so we'll see.


End file.
